


Stockholmes Syndrome: A Study in Kink

by mycake



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Anal Sex, BBC Sherlock - Freeform, Chair Sex, Community: sherlockbbc_fic, Couch Cuddles, Couch Sex, Drugged Sherlock, Explicit Sexual Content, Johnlock - Freeform, Kissing, Kitchen Sex, M/M, Mycroft IS the British Government, Oral Sex, Porn, Shameless Smut, Sherlock Being Sherlock, Snakes on a Plane, mystrade
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-17
Updated: 2013-08-09
Packaged: 2017-12-20 11:14:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 70,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/886593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mycake/pseuds/mycake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This story examines, in depth, how different a relationship is when your partner is a self proclaimed socio-path. It is far from ordinary, but I wouldn't say it is "hardly pleasurable" Sherlock shows off his spectacular ignorance when it comes to intimate relationships. John undergoes several trials and tribulations as he explores his Holmo-sexuality. Behind the scenes poor Lestrade can't catch a break. And Mycroft? Well, he's just Mycroft. All the while, the rest of the world keeps trying to interfere with John and Sherlock's blooming romance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Kitchen Table

**Author's Note:**

> Stockholmes Syndrome, once Treating Priapism, and now subtitled A Study in Kink is my first story and has been a WIP for far too long. I plan to finish what I've started! Tally-ho!

John swung open the fridge. Surprise! No milk.

The tea had another minute and there was no milk and the sugar jar had a mummified finger in it. Most likely laden with arsenic. Lovely. He slammed the door, hard. It bounced back. He shut it once more, gingerly. John considered pouring the tea down the drain and retreating to his chair. He went to fetch the tea bag out of the cup and the string broke.

"Great" John huffed a sigh. The bag sunk to the absolute bottom. John turned to open the silverware drawer. With no silverware! This was shaping up to be an excellent day. Where in blazes would the silverware have gone? He looked to the knife block. Every piece of cutlery was missing. John looked into the tea-cup, it had gone so dark the tea bag was no longer visible.

"And no milk. Great. Just great." John placed his hands on the counter top and let his head drop. "It isn't worth it."

BANG

Sherlock kicked open the door, slamming it into the adjacent wall. John jumped and clutched his chest from the near heart attack.

"Sherlock bloody Holmes! You will be the cause of my untimely death!" Sherlock strode his way into the kitchen with long lanky steps. Not wasting any time. He worked his way behind John, wrapped his arms around his torso, and pressed his hips against John’s backside, pinning him to the counter. His fingers made way to John's zip. "Sherlock!" John tried pressing back to turn around. Sherlock pressed him harder into the counter. "Sh-Sherlock! Get off!" John sunk an elbow into his ribcage, hard. Sherlock took a step back, releasing his hold on John. "What the hell are you doing?" John turned to look up at him.

"Sex John! Now remove your trousers so I can get on with it." Sherlock made a motion for John's trouser legs to aid in their speedy removal.

"No Sherlock. Not like this" John motioned to the surroundings, but he really meant the circumstances under which he was being propositioned.

"You're right." John let out a breath of relief. "This positioning would never work. We require a better angle, ah of course!" Sherlock spotted the kitchen table.

_Perfect height for maximum penetration. Needs a bit of cleaning._

Sherlock turned to clear the table of glassware and old newspapers. John stood still, his backside against the counter, mouth agape. Sherlock patted the table. John remained firmly planted. Sherlock let out an overly dramatic sigh.

"I don't have all day. Assume the position." Sherlock crossed his arms and waited. Impatiently. He gave it a moment's thought. Then stepped over to John, grabbed his shoulders, and half-walked/half-pushed him over to the table. John put his hands against Sherlock's chest and shoved him away.

"No Sherlock. I'm… I'm not even aroused!"

" _You_ don't have to be." John crossed his arms, Sherlock's shoulders dropped. "I meant, I would be doing the work, you just have to lay there and take it." Sherlock sighed.

"I know what you meant!" John yelled, letting his arms flail sporadically. He made his way, fast paced, to his chair and had a seat. Sherlock placed his hands on his hips. Thinking.

_He’s not aroused. I am. He wanted an intimate relationship. Is this not intimate?_

John opened his laptop. Sherlock began to pace in the small kitchen.

_What does he want from me? It is his fault I feel so... in rut. It is barbaric. Animal. I hate it._

John typed away.

_Click click click. He is pretending to be writing something so ‘very’ important to throw me off my game. Nothing he writes is that important. Damnit, I want it now!_

_"_ John! Face me like a man. Don't go typing away on your damned blog thinking this will all go away!" Sherlock was fuming.

"Sherlock, leave it, I have a headache."

"Good! The endorphins-"

"Your master minded plan was to bugger me on the kitchen table! Hardly a pleasurable experience." John stared at his computer screen.

"Granted, it would be unlikely that you would achieve an orgasm. But, I wouldn't say that it would be _hardly pleasurable_." Sherlock scoffed.

"You're right Sherlock" John slammed his laptop shut "It would be entirely pleasurable. For _you_ "

"Again with the foreplay!" Sherlock threw his arms up in frustration. "Let's get take-away, have a cuddle, and snog while we watch us some crap telly. Yes that will satisfy my raging erection!" Sherlock made his way to the sofa and threw himself on to its cushions. He let out a huff. "All that kissing, licking, sucking, and 'I love you' 'I love you too' 'Oh my God I loved you the moment we met and I thought you were an asexual!' 'Let's get married'" Sherlock made kissing sounds and mimicked with his hands. "Dull" His arms went flaccid and he let one fall off the side of the sofa.

"Just because you are absolutely... non romantic! Doesn't mean I don't want at least some form of... reciprocity!"

"Fine! When you are this aroused, come to me, I'll take care of it. Until then-"

"Thanks, Sherlock. I'll keep that in mind. Why don't you do me a favour, go fuck yourself." John hissed

"Tried" Sherlock mumbled.

"Excuse me"

"I tried!" Sherlock shouted. Sherlock sat up. Facing forward, he ran his hands through his hair, tousling his curls.

"You. Just. Got. Home. Wh-" John stuttered.

"In the stock room. I tried. Didn't work"

John let out a sigh. Thank God he wasn't masturbating in the lab with Molly roaming about. Then again, on second thought, she probably would have enjoyed that. Immensely.

"I get that you're... sexually frustrated. You don't have to take it out on me" Sherlock looked up at John incredulously.

"Then what good are you for?" Sherlock sneered. John bit his tongue and looked up at the ceiling. Sherlock fell back on to the sofa.

"I was wrong you are not non romantic. You are anti-romantic. If you were any less romantic, you’d be..." John thought. Nothing came to him. Why couldn't he think of something clever at a moment like this? He hissed through his teeth.

He looked over to Sherlock. He was feigning death on the sofa. So dramatic. Even his legs were splayed out. John clenched his teeth, took some deep breaths, rolled his shoulders, and attempted to return his attention to his laptop. He opened it and stared at the blank log in screen. He heard a groan coming from the sofa. He ignored it and continued to stare at his laptop, his fingers hovering over the keys.

Sherlock let out another long groan, slightly louder. John kept his eyes steady, his left hand twitched. Sherlock rustled on the sofa and then let out an incessantly loud and long drawn out groan. He was getting exponentially louder. John slammed his lap top once more and snapped his attention over to Sherlock on the sofa. He was laying as before, arms and legs sprawled out, completely flaccid save one part of him. He was trying to make the most obnoxious low-toned groan he could possibly conjure.

"I'd have finished by now!" he whined

"Would you stop bitching and moaning. No means no."

"John I'm dying."

"You are not dying, now shut up, and it _will_ go away."

"We are all dying an agonizingly slow death on this retched planet and you won't let me fuck you before I _die._ "

"You are not dying, you just think you are, trust me it won't last forever."

"Yes it will" Sherlock turned on to his stomach and sunk his face into the sofa, his arm swung off the side. Once Sherlock set his mind to something he was insatiable. John placed his laptop on the side table, stood up, and went for his coat. "John..." Sherlock mumbled, half muffled by the sofa cushion.

"I'm going out"

"John" Sherlock moaned

"We need milk and a new sugar bowl, seeing as you decided to perform one of your experiments in the other one"

"I'm dying"

"No. You're not"

"Yes. I am"

"We've had this conversation. I'm leaving. Good-bye." He shrugged his coat on to his shoulders and went for the door handle.

"Fine. Leave me to die!"

"Could you be any more dramatic?" John paused for a moment at the door.

"I don't know if I can manage. I suppose I could drown in a tub with a hair dryer."

"Well thank God we don't own one of those" John turned the door handle and pulled the door half-open. John jumped when he came face to face with Mrs Hudson. He clutched a hand to his chest again. Second near heart-attack of the day.

"Oh! Hello there!" Mrs. Hudson toddled in and made way for the kitchen.

"Mrs Hudson, tell John to have sex with me" Sherlock moaned from the sofa.

"Oh Sherlock. Let him be."

Sherlock let out an overly dramatic sigh "You are absolutely useless"

"I know dear" She snickered. John stood in the doorway. His shoulders slumped, his mouth half-open; appalled by Sherlock's lack of respect for Mrs Hudson. "In the sugar jar? Really, Sherlock?" Sherlock smirked.

"I was just going out to replace it actually" John sighed.

"Nonsense, I have a whole collection downstairs, you come by and take whichever you like." She smiled politely at John. John returned her smile with a polite grin.

"Out of milk as well" He said into the air.

"I got quite a lot the other day, far too much for just me. Come by when you're done with whatever it is you two are doing here." She found the mason jar she was looking for and went to leave the flat. "Sherlock, be kind to John. He's a keeper."

"I try" Mrs Hudson left, shutting the door softly behind her. John stood still in the doorway, he let his head drop, and stared at the floor.

"I guess I'm staying in then" He removed his jacket and placed it on the hook. Sherlock shot up off the sofa and walked over to his chair to retrieve his violin and bow. "I'm off to bed. I-"

"Sit" Sherlock pointed to John's chair with his bow.

"Right, because I have no say-" Sherlock glared at John. John took his seat, placed his arms on the arm rests, and slumped back.

Sherlock turned to the window and played a slow and somber tune. John rested his head on his hand. He sat in silence for a while, letting the violin's music sweep over him. He closed his eyes, the music slowly and softly lulled him to sleep.

SCREECH. John's eyes shot wide open. Third near heart-attack of the day. Sherlock returned to his sad song. His back was turned to John; his hips swayed with the music. John rolled his eyes. When would this private concert be over so he could take a much needed nap?

How had they come to being a bickering old couple? They'd only been "going out" for a month or so. Granted they'd lived together for years now. They knew how each other ticked; perhaps that's why they were so dysfunctional. The entire relationship was a power struggle. John considered himself blessed that they were both consenting on this partnership and it wasn't one-sided. Although today it seemed Sherlock was the one forcing himself on John.

John felt he initially forced himself on Sherlock. Every break up John had was driving him closer to homosexuality and Sherlock was the closest male companion he had. Would it have turned out differently if he was living with someone else? John didn't like to think he would have ended up with anyone else.

Sherlock was so androgynous it made it much easier to rationalize his attraction to another man. John came to Sherlock defeated from another hopeless relationship that Sherlock had destroyed. John had asked if Sherlock was sabotaging him on purpose. Sherlock admitted he wanted to save John from the utter disappointment of a married life with children. John wondered why he was even friends with Sherlock. John suggested Sherlock just stamp a label on his forehead and call him Sherlock's John. So after a long and interesting discussion, they decided to give it a try and become sexually exclusive partners.

John had exhausted all his energy trying to secure a girlfriend to shag. It would be so much easier to just have his flatmate at hand. He thought he could get used to it. He thought wrong.

Sherlock was a fairly terrible first shag for John. It wasn't that John wasn't aroused by Sherlock. In fact he was alarmingly turned on by Sherlock's body. He wasn't a fan of the constant sexual commentary and judgement passed on to him during any type of foreplay and especially during intercourse. This severely limited the amount of times they had been sexually active. Three times. It was frustrating, to say the least.

It didn't help that John was utterly clueless when it came to sex with another man. He fumbled and slipped. He blushed and was embarrassed about his own body, more so than with any woman.

Sherlock wasn't any help with pointing out abnormalities all over John's body. He had never been so self-conscious. John couldn't spot a flaw on Sherlock's body which made his insecurities that much worse. John _could_ find flaw in Sherlock's personality at every turn, which only seemed to anger Sherlock, who would in turn point to a mole on John and suggest he had the hideous thing removed. He pointed to wrinkles, calluses, scars, and grey hairs. Worst of all, he would constantly make fun of John's short stature.

John knew he was shorter than the norm. Scratch that. He was quite possibly a hobbit. Sherlock didn't have to point out every disadvantage of John being short. Every day it was a new insult for the ledger. He thought he had heard them all until he met Sherlock.

John's eyes were getting heavy again. Why did Sherlock have to play such a monotonous composition? It was probably one he was making up on the spot so it could go on indefinitely. The music stopped. John blinked his tired eyes. Sherlock brought his violin down to his shoulder.

"John. Do try to stay awake" Sherlock kept his eyes straight forward.

"God, Sherlock. Is this some sort of torture mechanism? It's working, just so you know." John sighed heavily and rested his head against the back of the chair, exposing his neck.

"Reciprocity."

"What?" John sat up, rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands, and yawned.

"You wanted reciprocity."

John had to think a long moment. His tired brain tried to make some connection. "You're trying to torture me... because I wouldn't let you have sex with me?"

"No John. You bore me to tears with your talk of romance and foreplay; therefore, I am boring you to tears with my music. Reciprocity." Sherlock regained his position and hovered his bow over the violin’s strings.

"Sherlock. You reciprocate kindness, this is revenge."

"You were ever so kind to deny me my primal urges. I'm returning the favour."

"My primal urge... to sleep?" John chuckled "All your blood flow is going to your trousers. This is stupid, even for you" Sherlock put his violin on his shoulder for a moment. Then he brought it down to his side and placed it against the wall. "Oh come on, you're not stupid. You're brilliant. I didn't-"

"You're right, this pursuit is stupid" Sherlock turned and retreated to his bedroom. John was left with his thoughts.

Where had he been wrong? Sherlock burst through their doorway at ten in the morning, near sending John into cardiac arrest. He proceeded to try mount John in the kitchen and have his way with him on the table. Yet John was at fault. How was that for fair?

John's mind couldn't think of a good solution to this debacle. He decided to approach the situation irrationally and followed Sherlock into his bedroom. He walked cautiously through Sherlock's open door. Sherlock was wrapped in a down comforter cocoon. John couldn't help but smile at Sherlock's childish behaviour.

"What are you doing?" John asked.

"Smothering myself. Perhaps the lack of oxygen will redirect my blood flow."

"You are being incredibly silly" John laughed as Sherlock tried to wiggle free of his casing. He managed to poke his head out. His hair was dishevelled and his breathing was laboured.

"What do you need?" Sherlock asked slowly.

"Still hard as a rock?"

"I would hardly say it had that consistency, that would be rather concerning." Sherlock looked over towards John. "Are you insinuating we do something to remedy the situation?"

John sighed. Sherlock looked into John's eyes searchingly.

"Sure." John said, giving in. Sherlock barrel rolled off the bed and broke loose of his bindings. He popped up and stood next to the bed. He steepled his fingers and brought them to his lips. Thinking.

_Finally! Now how? HOW?_

He walked over to where John was standing and looked him over. He grabbed John's shoulders and positioned him to stand with his knees against the bed. He placed a hand on his back to bend him over the mattress.

"Sherlock?" John asked.

"Shut up. I'm thinking." Sherlock pushed John down. He took a step back and rubbed his chin.

_No, no, this will never do. The bed is too low, John would have to..._

He pushed John further up the bed and grabbed at his hips to position them higher. John was on tip-toe.

_Right, he couldn't hold that position for the time it would take. Moreover I would require an upward stroke. Far too much work._

Sherlock rubbed his forehead

_Why couldn't we just do this on the kitchen table? It was the perfect height, a near ninety degree angle for forward thrust. The bed. Who ever thought that this was the proper place to have penetrative sex?_

John opened his mouth to speak.

"Sh sh. Still thinking"

John rolled his eyes. He propped up on his elbows, placed his head in his hands, and waited. He sighed heavily. Sherlock examined the surroundings.

_Floor, wall, against a chair, no. No!_

"Damnit John! Why do you have to be so damned... _short!"_

 _"_ Ever think you're just too damn, I don't know, TALL!" John shouted back. John rolled over and sat up. Sherlock had struck his last nerve.

Sherlock had a moment of inspiration. He shoved John on to his back, grabbed John's legs, and pulled them over his head. John rested his calves on Sherlock's shoulders. Sherlock grabbed John's hips and pulled him towards the edge of the bed and lined himself up.

"Perfect! Well... near perfect. It’s as good as I can manage." Sherlock was satisfied with the position he found. He grinned smugly.

_Far from ninety degrees but a downward thrust is far better than the alternative._

"Right, erm. Still one problem." Sherlock looked down at John with concern. "How's this going to work if we’re still fully dressed?"

"Don't be absurd John! I had to get the positioning right before I had a go at it." John saw the logic in his methods and sighed. "Besides, I wouldn't want a repeat of your first... attempt."

"Attempt!?" John's face turned red.

"All the fumbling about and changing position every two minutes. Sure there was penetration, but I wouldn't say that it was any good" John went to move and Sherlock bore down on him with his weight, stretching Jonh's hamstrings uncomfortably. He grimaced.

"Right, I bet you have this all planned out. 10 steps ahead at all times" John growled.

"Don't be cross. I'm just more adequately prepared. I take the appropriate precautions." Sherlock debated letting go of John to allow him to undress. He could escape and leave him at square one.

Some sort of apology might be in order. God, how he hated to apologise. If it meant he could finally have his way with John, the benefit could outweigh the cost. Right. That sounded economically sound. Might as well not beat around the bush. Best to go for the straight forward approach.

"Sorry"

"What?" John couldn't believe Sherlock was apologising.

"Sorry. Now take your clothes off" John guessed he should accept his apology, he might never hear another one from Sherlock for the rest of his life.

Sherlock let go of John, hoping he wouldn't run off. John thought about how they should be entwined in a passionate kiss and undressing each other with their teeth. Proclaiming their love for one another with short heated breaths and whispering each other's names. They would grind against each other and use their hands to explore one another's anatomy. There would be moaning and so much passion.

John blinked. Sherlock was waiting impatiently, only his trousers undone, he was fully erect, and had been for far too long.

John sighed. So much for romance. He pulled off his jumper and under-shirt. Sherlock huffed an annoyed sigh.

"What is it?" John asked, throwing his jumper off to the side.

"I don't need a strip tease. Next time, leave your shirt on."

"Next time. Right."

Sherlock rolled his eyes."Must you be so slow?" He reached for John's trousers and undid the button and fastener himself. John was satisfied he had part of his fantasy fulfilled, although Sherlock didn't use his teeth to pull down his zip like he’d imagined. Still this was almost technically foreplay.

Sherlock slid off John's pants and trousers at the same time. Not wasting time to admire or critique his body. He turned away to open the top drawer of his night stand. He grabbed the bottle of lubricant, squeezed a small amount on his palm and then threw the bottle on to John's chest. John looked at the bottle and pressed up on to his elbows to look at Sherlock. Was he serious?

"What's this for?" John asked.

"Apply some to your inside. It will make the initial thrust hurt less." John threw his head back and groaned.

"This is why people have foreplay! To ready themselves for intercourse!" John yelled out to the air because he knew Sherlock didn't care.

"You are perfectly capable of readying yourself, go on then" Sherlock motioned.

"This is ridiculous. I'm not fingering my ass while you watch."

"Yes and having me do it for you is much less embarrassing. Grow up." John laid back and covered his face with his hands. He thought Sherlock had just done a perfect impersonation of his brother, Mycroft, yet he knew it wasn’t wise to tell him so. Sherlock snatched the lubricant off of John’s chest.

John thought perhaps he had won. Sherlock squeezed more on to his hand. He rubbed it swiftly on his cock, not wanting to linger there for long.

"Alright, assume the position. Up." Sherlock patted his shoulders and leaned against the bed. His eyes had softened and his brows had lifted. He looked borderline... normal?

He was smiling. John didn't know whether that was creepy or... no it was most definitely creepy. He looked like a different man. Sherlock bit his bottom lip trying to keep from smiling. He was really genuinely excited about this. John noticed he, on the other hand, was cowering with his hands to his chest, in a defensive position. His face furrowed in concern. He didn't want to kerb Sherlock's enthusiasm, but he was really bothered.

"Ok..." He had never seen Sherlock this happy before for an extended amount of time. He was going on almost two minutes. Usually he had quick bursts and then returned to emotionless. He certainly lived on the extremes. He was grinning ear to ear and putting John off. "Erm... you ok?" John asked tentatively.

"Better than ok. Come on then. Up you go" He lifted up John's legs for him and scooted John to the edge of the bed. It was as before when they fully clothed, yet Sherlock was smiling. This was too weird. John forgot about Sherlock's personality disorder when he felt Sherlock’s cock at his entrance. John tensed and tried to pull back.

"Relax, it will go faster." Sherlock said... soothingly? John was highly concerned and very defensive. How could he not be concerned with Sherlock acting so different?

This was his opportunity to pounce, this was Sherlock's flaw. John could easily point out how creepy he looked when he smiled, how elongated it made his face look. Almost equestrian like. He was less handsome smiling, no wonder he frowned all of the time. God that was so mean. He could really hurt Sherlock.

John resolved that he was not like that and that is why Sherlock liked him. If he turned into a complete dick while Sherlock was at his most vulnerable, it would discredit every kind act he had ever performed in his life. John laid his hands flat on his chest, shut his eyes, and took in deep breaths. He was beginning to relax when he felt the pressure from the head of Sherlock's penis enter his opening. John jolted, reached out in pain, and grabbed Sherlock's cock by the middle of the shaft.

"John... I can't fully... with your hand there" John opened his eyes to look at Sherlock. Sherlock's eyes looked sad. He should be royally pissed off. Instead he was disappointed. He was whimpering. Was he pouting?

"Slowly" John rasped breathlessly through gritted teeth. His face was grimaced in pain. He moved his hand down to the base of Sherlock's cock. Sherlock complied and tried moving in as slowly as he could manage with his incredible lack of patience.

Sherlock looked concerned as John writhed in pain. John shut his eyes so he didn't have to look at Sherlock's awkwardness. The pornographies made it look like this was such a pleasant experience. John couldn't see why Sherlock had let him do this to him, three damn times. John took to deep breathing again. Going to his special place with open fields of green; with bunnies and kittens abound. He loosened his grip around Sherlock's cock. Took one final breath and let go.

He let out a sigh. Sherlock had slid himself entirely into John.

_Now what?_

John was still tense. Eyes closed. Not writhing, but not enjoying the feeling either. Sherlock believed this was going to be a fast paced 'bend you over the table and fuck you' fuck. It had turned into something much more intimate. Sherlock was beginning to worry. He had this erection for far too long, medically speaking. He should be having at it.

_Why am I stopped? My cheeks hurt. Was I... smiling? Extensively? God. What have I become?_

Sherlock pushed John's legs off his shoulders, letting them drop to his hips. He did his best to manoeuvre John back so he could get on to the bed. He wrapped his arms around John's knees and was able to move him back, just enough. He crawled on to the bed and stood on his knees, still inside John. He kept his arms around John's knees. John had opened his eyes. They were holding each other's gaze.

John was unsure why Sherlock changed his position after scolding John for doing the exact same thing. He actually preferred this, not being bent in half. His hip flexors were a bit strained but this was much more intimate. Sherlock let go of John's knees, he crawled on his hands until they were on both sides near John's head.

Missionary position. Sherlock was now looking directly down at John. John couldn't help but stare into his 'what the hell' colour eyes. Heterochromia iridum. His eyes were two distinct colours. He had never been so close to Sherlock, no wonder he could never remember if Sherlock had green or blue eyes. His heart was pounding in his ears. He forgot he was in pain. No. The pain had turned to pleasure. What the hell?

Immense pleasure was coursing through Sherlock. They weren't even gyrating, grinding, and bucking, yet it felt fantastic. Sherlock felt his heart pulsating in his chest. A little flutter. Was he having a cardiac infarction? His breathing was zen-like.

_No. I'm not having a heart-attack. My breathing would be laboured, I'd be sweating. There would be pain, intense pain. This is pleasant. Why do I feel so off? I'm not behaving normally. John is bound to have noticed. I must regain my composure, end this foolishness._

Sherlock pushed down slowly, staring into John's eyes, they were nose to nose. John was holding his breath. Sherlock froze. John saw his eyes were panicked.

_What am I doing?_

He clamped his eyes shut and pressed his lips to John's. John let out a gasp. This was not composed. Sherlock was frantic. The situation took a turn when John opened his mouth slightly and Sherlock couldn't help but explore with his tongue. His breathing became labored. John's hips started to move, gyrating.

Sherlock broke the kiss with a low moan. He forgot he was inside John. He didn't want to stop. He locked lips again. Sherlock's hips acted on their own accord as he focused on the embrace. He kissed John deeply and with vigour. John was positively humming with pleasure. Sherlock was intently focused on the embrace until he felt something poking him in the abdomen. He opened his eyes.

_What? Oh right. John._

Sherlock had forgotten John... had a penis.

_Right. Kissing._

Sherlock snorted a laugh. He lost the embrace.

_Damnit. Moment ruined._

John looked up at him. Frowning? Embarrassed?

"Erm. You're... you've grown a bit John" Sherlock laughed unintentionally. He expected John to become outraged. Instead John held back a laugh and smiled.

"Just get on with it" John closed his eyes, still grinning. Sherlock was smiling again.

_I have got to stop doing that. My face was not made for smiling, my cheeks are burning._

He couldn't help it. This was too much fun. He wasn't sure if he wanted to continue kissing. It seemed the feeling had passed. He looked over John for inspiration.

_I need something more. I could pick up the pace and get this over with._

John had his head turned to the side. His neck was perfectly exposed. Sherlock debated his plan of attack.

_I am not a vampire. This is unacceptable. It is a neck. A windpipe, oesophagus, and thyroid, circulating with blood flow from the jugular and carotid, wrapped in musculature and skin, held up by cervical vertebrae, with a spinal cord running through it. Nothing more._

Sherlock saw John's neck pulsate.

_Alright! I'm a bleeding vampire._

Sherlock lunged at John's neck. He couldn't control his body’s shaking as he latched on and sucked on John's neck, right under the mandible, over the carotid artery, which pulsated on Sherlock's tongue.

_167 bpm._

Sherlock could hear John panting hard. His cock was pulsating against Sherlock's abdomen. Sherlock stopped his attack at John's neck. Noting the welt he had made.

_Oh, that's going to be hard to cover up. Better not mention that until after._

Sherlock pressed up on his hands. He looked down at John's erection. He inquisitively placed a hand on it.

"Fuck" John yelped. Sherlock took his hand away and looked at John. He raised an eyebrow. Not sure what John meant. John opened his eyes. "Well, don't stop!" he yelled.

Sherlock was lost. John moaned. Now John was impatient, this was serious. He grabbed Sherlock's hand and placed it on his throbbing cock. He held it there and thrust into it. Sherlock looked down. He was hypnotised by the rhythmic motion.

_What should I be doing right now... perhaps I should ask._

Sherlock blinked. He forgot what he was doing.

"Erm... do you-"

"Just fuck me already!" John yelled.

_Did I do something wrong?_

"Are you-"

"Sherlock... stop talking! I'm close..."

"But you sound-"

"I'm not angry!" John was red in the face. His heart was pounding harder than ever before. He just wanted relief and Sherlock kept… thinking! John tried to get Sherlock to move but he was frozen. He tried bucking and wriggling his hips but Sherlock was not getting the message.

Spectacularly ignorant. Even a straight forward, 'fuck me' wasn't getting through. Didn't he want to bend him over a table earlier? That would be so nice right about now. This was not enough.

John pulled away Sherlock's hand and threw his legs on to Sherlock's shoulders. He assumed the position. Sherlock was stunned. John pulled Sherlock's hips tight against him. He gave him a swift slap on the ass.

"Have at it!" He shouted. Sherlock got the message. Sherlock began thrusting, slowly. John had been so close before. He was becoming increasing frustrated at the pace. "Harder damnit" John was in pain again, this time from the intense pleasure he was feeling. He felt his face grimace. Sherlock was slowing. He tried to let his face relax. He clenched his jaw. "Stop it. Just go"

"Wait... do you want me to stop or-"

"For fuck’s sake, go! Go! Go!" Sherlock read his face. He was clearly in agony. Perhaps he should stop. A tear rolled down John's face and on to the bedspread.

"John you're crying" Sherlock went to wipe away the other tear forming in the corner of John's eye. It was too much for John. He was brought to breaking. John sucked in a deep breath, dislodged from Sherlock’s cock, sat up fast, threw an arm over Sherlock's shoulder and used his leverage to throw Sherlock on his back. John mounted him. Sherlock braced himself for the unknown. What had over-taken John?

John wiped the tears from his eyes and sniffled. He let out a deep breath and lowered himself on to Sherlock's cock once more. It wasn't what Sherlock was expecting. His moan was unbelievably loud and low.

John rocked back and forth trying to make the position work. How the hell did women do this so effortlessly? John was forced into thinking. He analysed his surroundings. He needed something to grab on to. Sherlock's shoulders, too close, he couldn't get an adequate thrust. The bedspread, he could clutch it, but it would move with him and defeat the purpose. Headboard. Perfect.

John reached out and grasped the headboard with both hands. Sherlock looked up at him, unsure of his intentions. This made John grin and raise an eyebrow. Sherlock had his hands clutched to his chest defensively and was looking rather concerned. Parallels.

John started moving, trying to pick up speed quickly. Sherlock eased his clenched fists. Pleasure was once more consuming him. He looked down at his hands.

_I should do something with these. Hm._

He placed his hands hesitantly on John's hips. He used them to help keep John on. John began to pick up his pace. Sherlock thought frantically.

_He needs more._

Sherlock bucked up his hips, a little too rough. Joan gasped. He was thrown off pattern. Yet, he seemed to have enjoyed it. Sherlock repeated the action with less intensity. John dug his fingers into the headboard.

_Yes. He is enjoying this._

Sherlock brought his knees up for a better angle and more thrust. He gripped John's hips. He gave it another test. A single and quick upward thrust. John threw his head back.

_This is prime._

Sherlock took a deep breath and began thrusting with reckless abandon. John was finding it hard to hold on to the headboard, his knuckles were turning white.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck" John couldn't breathe. Sherlock wasn't sure how much longer he could keep this up, physically. Then a wave of cold shot up his spine followed by an intense warm.

His hips were sporadic and uncoordinated. He couldn't hold them up any longer. John's weight was too much, he collapsed. Sherlock found his breath. He brought his hands off John's hips. He breathed deep and hard. He ran his hands through his hair.

_That was..._

He looked at John, blinking.

_Oh right._

He lacked motor function. He tried to swing his unwilling arm toward John. It buckled at the shoulder. He was completely flaccid. John slid off Sherlock's cock and looked into Sherlock's eyes. He was about to dismount.

"No!" Sherlock's voice was raspy and breathless. He managed to regain control of his arms and hugged them around John. He brought him and John into a seated position. "You... need..." Sherlock gasped. He couldn't manage the word 'reciprocity'. Sherlock wiped the sweat off his brow with the back of his hand. He was still panting.

John opened his mouth to protest. Sherlock grabbed the shaft of John's cock. He couldn't see straight and was doing a crap job of giving John a hand job. John snorted out a laugh. Sherlock was hell bent on getting him off. "Sherlock... you don't-"

"Shh. I'm busy" He rested his head on John's shoulder. His hand was slowing. John wrapped his arms around Sherlock and drew him in for a hug. Sherlock was fading fast. John felt his own erection fading. Sherlock's eyes were heavy. He looked piss drunk.

Sherlock's breathing became rhythmic and slow. His eyes closed gently. John gave him a kiss on the temple.

John held him close. Stroking his sweaty hair. Kind of gross. John wiped his hand on the back of Sherlock's shirt. This is not how John envisioned his afternoon would go. He looked over at the clock. It was not even three. Great, Sherlock was going to be up all hours of the night. He might not need to sleep for weeks after this little nap. Sherlock was still clutching on to John's member. He went to gently pry off Sherlock's fingers.

"Muhhh" Sherlock groaned. John looked at Sherlock and gave him the 'seriously?' face. He attempted to remove Sherlock's hand once more; Sherlock grasped him tighter. John grimaced.

This was quite a situation. Sherlock was unconsciously holding on to John's flaccid penis for dear life. Every time John went to remove Sherlock's hand, he tightened his grip. It was like he had his dick in a Chinese finger trap. John sighed heavily.

How long were they at it? They had started that morning. When Sherlock waltzed in and tried to take advantage of John on their kitchen table. However, they had a break in between. Fighting about foreplay. Then John followed Sherlock to his room. Irrational. Sherlock was a butterfly. How many times did he casually mention killing himself? That was concerning. There was the positioning of John on the bed. I suppose they really started once they were fully naked. Then again Sherlock did keep his shirt on, but that's beside the point.

John had been holding a sleeping Sherlock for twenty minutes now. His mind was wandering every which way. It had been an interesting sexual encounter. Full of ups and downs. Ha, a pun. Was it the best sex of his life? No, it couldn't have been. He didn't orgasm. He orgasms every time. Well, except that one time he was caught by some bloke that turned out to be the girl's boyfriend but looked more like her dad. Man, that was an embarrassing one.

He wished he had the ability to delete traumatic events from his memory like Sherlock. Well the fact that the earth revolves around the sun isn't that traumatic. Celebrity baby names... yeah well, regardless, he wished he could erase that moment from his history.

Sherlock had kissed him. During sex! What the hell? That was weird. A good weird. A very good weird. What possessed him to... maybe he has gone off the deep end. He did bite John's neck. Oh, God. Did he leave a mark?

John fingered the spot under his chin. That bastard. The mark is so high up there's no way of covering it up. He'd have to go to the store and pick up cosmetics. What was it called, cover-up? Concealer? Girls caked their face with it and looked two-toned back when he was a teenager. Why do they do that? Do they still do that? Maybe he hadn't noticed. He'd been too busy having gay sex with his flatmate.

Sherlock was getting heavy and John heard his bad shoulder creak. He was getting old. What was he? Five years Sherlock's senior. That's about half a decade. No, that _is_ half a decade. Was this his mid-life crisis? He wasn't even close to fifty. Was he going to die at eighty then? Following Sherlock about, probably sooner.

Hm. He probably should have done more in his thirties. He was past his prime. All he had were some battle scars and a case of PTSD. He could have won Wimbledon. No, he couldn't have, he was rubbish at tennis. He wondered what Sherlock's mind was like, if this is how a normal brain functioned. He probably thinks up the cures for various cancers and decides not to share them because cancers act as population control for the elderly. That's terrible. Why would he do that?

John blinked. His mind was returning to the real world. It was about time to move Sherlock. He was likely in a deep sleep by now. John took in a deep breath and tried to move Sherlock's hand once more. He was able to release Sherlock's grip on his cock and he breathed a huge sigh of relief. Sherlock shifted and his jaw went slack. He was out cold. John's feet had both near fallen asleep and his shoulder was starting to really hurt. He clutched onto Sherlock and slowly rocked him forward to lay him on the bed.

There. John moved Sherlock's arm off his shoulder and laid it next to him carefully. He dismounted slowly. Backed his way off the bed and on to the floor. Good, now stay Sherlock. He turned slowly, the floor creaked.

"Mm. John." Sherlock groaned. John grabbed the bridge of his nose.

"Yes?" He tried to ask in a pleasant tone. It came out rather snide.

"Cuddle" Sherlock rolled on to his side away from John.

"Sherlock. We just..." He was arguing with a half-naked, half-asleep, man about cuddling. His sister would be proud. "We had a cuddle for half an hour"

"Twenty-five minutes, you owe me another five." John titled his head to the side. What did he check the clock before he passed out? Is he that brilliant he can tell the time of day without... Was he really asleep?

"How? Did you-" Sherlock pulled up the sleeve on his left arm to reveal a wristwatch. He must have glanced at the time while he was trying to get John to come in his hand. That's odd. Who does that? "Sherlock, I need to eat something, piss, and take a shower. I smell like one of your science experiments."

"Anti. Romantic." Sherlock huffed. John rolled his eyes and looked for his discarded trousers. He saw Sherlock's in a heap on the floor. He spotted his jumper. He grabbed it and threw it on the bed. _The case of the Missing Trousers._ Not exactly an appropriate blog entry. John heard the front door open. He rushed to slam Sherlock's bedroom door. He turned. No lock? Who doesn't have a bloody lock on their bedroom door?

"Yoo hoo! Boys" This was bad. John turned and braced his back against the door. He slid down on to the floor. He was completely naked, his trousers had disappeared from the face of the planet, and Mrs Hudson was looking for him. It was only a matter of time.

There was a knock on Sherlock's bedroom door. John jumped. Again with the near heart-attacks. What was he on? Number four? Where was Sherlock's dressing gown? Where was anything in this blasted room?

"Sherlock, I've got your milk and one of my sugar bowls. Are you all right?" Mrs Hudson asked with an air of concern. Sherlock rolled over on to his belly and turned his head to see John sitting with his back against the door. John had a look of sheer terror on his face. Sherlock let out a throaty laugh at the sight.

"Leave them on the kitchen table Mrs Hudson." he shouted through the door. John let out a small puff of air. "By the way! Don't bother coming in. John has seemed to misplace his trousers and is quite naked against the door." John shot him a murderous look. Sherlock's laugh was low and pure evil.

"Sherlock. I told you to be kind to your dear John. I don't fancy knowing what you two have been up to for the past few hours" She had moved away from the door. John heard the clicking of her shoes move toward the kitchen. She paused. "And do keep it down next time. It is so hard having the girls over with you two above our heads"

"Oh God" John turned fifty shades of red and buried his head in his hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do/don't apologise for any embarrassing sexual encounters these two have gone through or are about to go through. A good 90% of them are based on personal experiences. I tend to over-romanticize sex but I do try to make it as glamorous as the real deal. And I promise that I will never make you sit through an in depth PSA about booty hygiene.


	2. Treating Priapism

_Male. Mid fifties. Abrasions, scattered lacerations covering the posterior side. Suspected cardiac arrest. The blood would have pooled in the face by now. Petechial haemorrhages on the eyelids. Asphyxiation. No marks present on his neck. No bulge in his throat. Yet he died from lack of oxygen. This is apparent. What is that sound? Focus. Shoes polished, hardly worn, Italian. Fingers manicured. Business man. Colouration of bruising suggests he received several beatings throughout the course of weeks. Months? Oh God. That sound again. I can't possibly concentrate with that incessant racquet!_

"John! Stop that, this instant!" John looked down at Sherlock. Stop what? He was just standing there.

"Stop what?"

" _Breathing..."_ Sherlock hissed.

"Oh come on." John crossed his arms "People need to breath or else-"

"Then breath _properly!_ Through the nasal passages. Like so." Sherlock demonstrated proper breathing technique. Over exaggerating and emphasizing the use of his nose to perform the action. "I don't appreciate you standing behind me panting like some sort of horrid beast in heat." Not just a beast. A _horrid_ beast. Sherlock was being especially lovely today.

"I am not... Sherlock, I can breathe however I please."

"Mouth-breather." Sherlock spat. He resumed his search of the corpse. John sighed and resolved to breathing through his nose. Lestrade pretended not to notice. Anderson had been banished to the hall. Donovan was purposely not invited on the case. Sherlock was on edge of late.

_The beatings were once weekly, for six months. Masochist. Subordinate. Disgusting. What is that... wheezing?_

Sherlock looked back at John. He appeared utterly appalled by John's physiological need to breath.

_He is practically brachycephalic. I can't stand this another moment!_

Sherlock pointed to the door "Leave."

"Sherlock."

"Out!" He waved his hand to shoo John from the crime scene. "Go join Anderson, he's probably lonely without his _lover_ " Sherlock gave thought to that wonderful image. Donovan on her knees, her face buried...

"Of course!" Sherlock jumped up on to his feet. "Why didn't I see it before?" Lestrade braced himself for a long winded explanation along with several remarks about how all of Scotland Yard had the combined intelligence of a sea sponge. Sherlock paused. Silence fell on the room.

"Well?" Lestrade asked.

"Bindings on the hands. Removed. He died from lack of oxygen yet shows no signs of strangulation. He choked to death, yet has no object lodged in his throat; therefore, it was removed. The boy downstairs. He's young. Inexperienced. He performed the act. Panicked. Called the police. Said the man was complaining of chest pains. You found the marks on his back, suggesting foul play. And..."

"Right so he..." Lestrade let out a breath. "Choked on his..."

"Yes" Sherlock

"Well. This will be a fun one to write up. Thanks for the... input..." Lestrade stared at the body a moment. An awkward silence fell on the room. John was looking anywhere but the corpse. Sherlock turned to leave. John followed at his heels. He put his hands in his pockets and looked at the ground as he walked.

The cab ride was silent. John was convinced he had done something to cause this tension between Sherlock and him. Even John's breathing was putting Sherlock off. He was annoying his flatmate and he couldn't quite figure out why. John was turning into the new Anderson. How long would it be before John couldn't even be in the same room because Sherlock believed his stupidity was catching?

Sherlock took the lead up the stairs to the flat. He hardly made it through the door before he threw himself to the ground and lay there motionless. John made his way to the entrance and looked down on his partner.

"Really Sherlock? You couldn't walk the extra ten or so feet to the couch?" He stepped over Sherlock's body. John was somewhat relieved Sherlock was mad at the world in general and not just him. John walked in to the kitchen to put the kettle on. "Sherlock, you know Mrs Hudson is going to see you and think you're on the needle"

"I. Don't. CARE!" Sherlock shouted.

"Would you please stop this, you are being such a drama queen"

"I'm just... so..."

"Don't start"

"So"

"Don't you dare start!" John put the kettle down.

"BORED!"

"Sherlock, what did I just say?"

"Bored! Bored! Bored!" Sherlock boomed. John hated this more than anything. Their rent sky-rocketed when Sherlock was in this mood. Things went missing. Walls were shot at. The police were likely to pay a visit when Sherlock was bored. John pulled out his mobile.

**Just a heads up. Sherlock is bored. -JW**

John located the fire extinguisher. Checked the gauge. Gave it a shake. Half full. Not enough. His phone pinged.

**Right. I'm on call -GL**

Thank God for Greg. Sherlock would have been locked up ages ago if it weren't for the detective inspector. John needed to defuse the bomb lying in the threshold of his flat or this could end in bloodshed.

He walked over to Sherlock and stood for a moment, looking him over. Sherlock's eyes were half open, his jaw was slack. He was drooling, with his stomach pressed on the floor. He was in a fugue like state. John bent and lifted Sherlock's left forearm. He checked his pulse.

58 beats per minute, low but nothing concerning. He held Sherlock's arm slightly higher and let it drop. Thud. He was dedicated to his silent tantrum. John knelt down beside Sherlock. He placed a hand on Sherlock's back.

"Unh" Sherlock moaned.

"Right, we are on the moaning and groaning stage. Then we'll have the seething with uncontrollable rage stage. Back to the fugue. Then we end with the _pièce de résistance_ the 'let's set fire to major populated cities and sit back and laugh while they burn' stage."

"Muh." Sherlock flailed an arm at John to bat him away.

"We just got off a case. You should be... less bored" John would suggest happy but let's not be unrealistic.

"Case" Sherlock puffed. John let out a sigh of relief. Real words, this was progress. "Unh" Well, it looked promising. John turned Sherlock over on to his back.

"Sherlock, look at me" Sherlock rolled his eyes into the back of his head. He was drooling again. His eyelids were fluttering. The supraduction was straining his eye's superior oblique tendon. It was becoming painful but he dare not give John the satisfaction of looking him in the eye. "Sherlock!" John shook Sherlock by the shoulders. Sherlock shut his eyes completely. He felt a slight headache. John let go.

"What do I have to do to get you to stop this foolishness?" John thought a moment. "Do you require CPR?" Sherlock shook his head side to side. "I think you need a little mouth-to-mouth."

"Nuh." Sherlock moaned. John leaned down and put his lips to Sherlock's. Sherlock pursed his lips and let out a puff of air to repel John. John let out a small sigh. He reached his hand around and pinched Sherlock's nose shut. Sherlock winced. John took in a deep breath and exhaled into Sherlock's mouth, causing Sherlock's lungs to hyper-extend. Sherlock gasped and coughed. He shoved John away and sat up. He continued coughing.

"Ha!" John laughed. Sherlock gave him a look of pure hatred. Sherlock coughed once more. John went to give him a pat on the back. Sherlock shrugged away and smacked John's hand.

"Don't touch me!" He growled. Sherlock stood, removed his over-coat and threw it on John's head. He made way to the sofa and stripped of his suit jacket and discarded it on to the coffee table. He made work of taking his shoes off. He slid his socks off and threw them as far as he could across the room. He fell into the couch, letting out a deep sigh.

John pulled off Sherlock's beloved coat and stood up to place it on the hook. He walked to the middle of the room and searched for Sherlock's socks.

"Case. Psh" Sherlock huffed from the sofa. He steepled his fingers and brought them under his chin. John had successfully defused the situation. He felt his mood lift. He swelled with pride and began cleaning with a little bounce in his step.

"Hardly worth my time." Sherlock let out sigh "What's this one then? A _Case of Oral Asphyxiation_?"

"I was thinking more along the lines of the 'Masochistic Massacre'... _oral_ asphyxiation... clever." John gave a chuckle.

"Repulsive."

"What is? Masochism?"

"No, _oral sex._ " Sherlock grimaced at the words.

"Actually it's quite... I don't know... It feels-"

"It is positively foul. Distasteful." Sherlock sneered.

John snorted. Well, there went his chances of ever being on the receiving end of a blow job. Then again he wasn't too sure he could be on the giving end either after seeing the aftermath of a man choked to death by his master's... Right he didn't want to think about it.

Sexual violence, now that was something distasteful and foul. He couldn't imagine himself being bound and gagged. With whips and chains and the like. He shuddered at the thought. Irene Adler. The mistress skeleton.

He had always wondered if anything happened between Sherlock and _The Woman._ John remembered being able to see her first three ribs sticking out of her chest. That was unhealthy. She probably was riddled with infections. Scientists would probably find at least seven novel STIs on her person on any given day.

Now John was being mean. While he wasn't being outwardly mean like Sherlock tended to be, but he still felt like inside thoughts counted. You can't, in good conscience, secretly hate someone and be nice to their face. That's wrong. Did Sherlock have a conscience? His super-ego must be highly repressed. Did he even have an ego? Or was he all id? Damn Freud. John was not a psychiatrist.

Sherlock was deep in thought as well.

_Another night, stuck right here. Cooped up with... whatever John is. Not a case to be had. Nothing of interest. God, I feel take-away and telly in my near future. Why can't he ever do anything slightly interesting when we have so much downtime? Why do I have to come up with any sort of entertainment? Then he yells! 'The rug’s on fire!' 'I just bought that mug!' 'Where's the cutlery gone?' 'Why can't you perform your experiments at a decent hour?' 'You poured concentrated hydrochloric acid on my favourite jumper!' 'No you can't come in my hair!' 'Seriously Sherlock, where's the cutlery?'. I feel stifled with the constant no, No, NO!_

_"_ Damnit John! You never let me have any fun! Why are we in a relationship?" Sherlock had worked himself up into another fit.

"Because... Love?" John suggested.

"Oh God." Sherlock groaned " _Love._ What an empty word. We are not 'in love', John. People say 'I love you' back and forth, constantly proclaiming their _love_ for one another. Then they go and shag their daughter's PE teacher. I bet Lestrade just _loved_ his wife when he found out." Sherlock turned to look at John. "Oh you don't honestly believe you _love_ me? You are such a sod."

John was a bit hurt at first that Sherlock would compare how he loved him to ordinary people.

"No I don't _love_ you." John said. "What we have is something _much_ more special." Sherlock made retching sounds. John was being sickening. John walked over to the sofa. "They're going to have to invent a new word for what we have."

"Unh, John, you are making me nauseous."

"Oh, Sherlock you make my heart skip a beat" He leaned over Sherlock and looked down on him.

"Cardiac arrhythmias are not a sign of love. You are likely having the early symptoms of heart failure. You are _at that age"_ Sherlock was not in the mood for this sickeningly sweet talk.

John clutched his arm. "Ah... Sherlock. I think you're right. The pain... it's excruciating" John grimaced in imaginary pain.

"John, don't be ridic-"

"I'm having a..." John collapsed on top of Sherlock.

"Oof" John was surprisingly heavy for his size. "Get off!"

"Can't... I died."

"You are such a child!"

"Can't hear you! Dead!" Sherlock tried pushing John off "I need mouth-to-mouth"

"You need to get off!"

"Can't move! Still dead! Bring me back. I brought you back"

"You near ruptured my lungs!" John was a dead weight on top of him and not budging.

"I'm experiencing brain damage. You had better resuscitate me before it's too late!"

"You're already brain damaged, now move, you're crushing me"

"Just a little kiss?"

"I don't do foreplay!"

"Yes. You do. Now kiss me damnit!" John manoeuvred himself until their bodies were parallel. John placed his hands on Sherlock's chest. Sherlock could easily throw him from this position. Sherlock instead brought up his left hand and flicked John square in the forehead with his middle finger.

"No." Sherlock sighed and lay his head back on the cushion. "You never let me do anything fun, why should I let you?" John rested his head on Sherlock's chest and sighed. "You always get what you want.”

"I do not." John brought his head up and rested his chin on his hands. "What makes you think I _ever_ get what I want?"

"We're... cuddling" Sherlock moaned.

"You like a good cuddle."

"I despise _cuddling_ "

"Liar. If you don't have a proper cuddle at least thirty-minutes a day you get unbearable." Sherlock huffed. "No, scratch that. You're unbearable no matter what I do. Why do I even try?" John pressed up. Sherlock pulled him down roughly.

"I'm not done yet." John rolled his eyes. His mother must have never held Sherlock as a child. She must have never held Mycroft either. If her sons were like this John was terrified of the monster she must be. Then John thought about having a cuddle with Mycroft, he shuddered.

"What?" Sherlock rubbed his hand down John's spine.

"Nothing..."

"You were trembling. Bad memory?" John couldn't keep much from Sherlock.

"No not a memory." John sighed "I pictured doing this with your brother."

"What?" Sherlock stopped rubbing John's back.

"My mind sometimes... has a mind of its own"

"That's... odd"

"It was highly disturbing..." John looked into Sherlock's eyes. Sherlock's brow was furrowed.

"Then why imagine it?"

"I can't control where my mind wanders."

"Sure you can."

"Maybe you can but my mind is a-"

"Don't mock me." Sherlock rubbed John's back again "I get it. Your brain isn't as straight-forward as I once thought."

"I can't take this any longer. You're starting to get sappy. I'm going to be sick." John said. He tried to escape and Sherlock held him tight. He wrapped his long legs around the doctor's waist and locked his ankles together. He squeezed, constricting John's airway.

"Gah, can't... breath" He tapped on Sherlock's shoulder.

"Neither can I! I'm so in love. Love. Love. Love!"

"You're crushing-"

"You take my breath away Dr. Watson. I can't live without your sweet embrace." He gave John rapid pecks all over his face. John was turning red and struggling to catch his breath. Sherlock rolled on to his side, released his grip, and John tumbled to the floor. "Now leave me alone. You disgust me." Sherlock rolled over, turning his back to John.

John shook his head. His colour returned to his face. He panted.

"Again with the mouth breathing? Leave. I've grown tired of you." Sherlock waved John away.

"But... that wasn't thirty minutes. You said if you don't get the full thirty-"

"Fine! Cuddle me... just don't _touch_ me" John cocked his head to the side.

"How do I-"

"I don't care! Just! Unh!" Sherlock curled into a ball on the sofa. He had come full cycle.

What was John doing before this, what was it? Bomb defusing? Right. He was just about to put the kettle on. John pushed himself up uneasily and went to stand. He took some deep breaths and made way for the kitchen. The kettle was waiting, right where he left it. Not that it had any means of escaping. He turned on the stove-top's flame. Filled the kettle with water and set it on the range.

Good. He was making progress. It was about the only thing he could accomplish in the flat. Sherlock seemed to undo everything else. Someday he was going to find a way to undo John's cup of tea.

Wars would be waged, battles would be fought, and only one would be victorious. Because, no one, and I mean no one, messes with a British man's right to a nice cup of tea. Unless he prefers coffee... Then he's on his own.

Right! Preparations. John smacked his lips and turned about on his heels. Sugar. Good sugar bowl contains only sugar. Though he wasn't entirely sure if that was its entire chemical make-up. He gave it a taste. Yes, definitely sugar. On second thought, that wasn't his best idea, taste testing for toxins. Oh well, he was still alive, for now.

Milk. In the fridge, non-curdled, his favourite! This was going so well! Tea... He should have checked for tea, please be tea.

John breathed a sigh of relief. There was a box with a few bags of tea. Can't have tea without the tea! John was becoming utterly domestic. He had to take a breather. Can't stop now... there's tea to be had. And the silverware, damn. No silverware. Oh well he could manage. Cups! He needed cups. Well a cup. Sherlock seemed to be... out of commission. He pulled open the cabinet and...

"No cups." He shut the cabinet. Opened it again; had a look. Shut it again. "Sherlock... the cups?"

"Gone" John was devastated. The water was coming to a boil. All had been going swimmingly. And there was no vessel to drink his tea. He pinched the bridge of his nose, closed his eyes, and tried to breath.

"What do you mean, gone?"

"Gone! No longer here. They've left, taken-away, perhaps never to return. By God, don't you speak English?"

"But... how... why... Why Sherlock, why? All the cups? Couldn't you have left one? Just one?" John let out a sigh. He laid his head on the counter-top. The kettle was whistling. He didn't care. The cups.

"Oh John, come now. You are being so _dramatic_ " Sherlock was holding back a wry grin.

"Sherlock... what are you doing to me? Are you trying to completely strip my kitchen bare and drive me out of my mind?"

"Your kitchen John? I do live here as well." Sherlock was trying to maintain an ordinary person's tone. He sounded more like a giant prat.

"Yes my kitchen! When was the last time you stepped foot in here?"

"Why just last week. You were standing just there. I tried to bugger you over the kitchen table. Don't you remember?" Sherlock expressed his disapproval "Tsk. Tsk. Your memory's beginning to fade you should-"

"Sherlock. If it has been a week since you've been in here, then how do you explain the missing cups?"

"Ooh. The case of the missing cups. Sounds exciting. Finally! Something exciting is going on around here." Sherlock jumped up. He steepled his fingers and brought them to his lips. He held back a malicious grin. John was in despair. Why couldn't Sherlock just tell him where the damned cups were? How did they come to this? John turned off the stove-top. It was obviously nowhere near tea time.

"Will you tell me where the cutlery has disappeared to?" John looked to the knife block. A ten piece set, with sheers, expensive, all gone.

"Embedded." Sherlock called out. He was near the window, looking outside.

"Em... Embedded? Embedded in what? Where?"

"That's none of your concern. I thought we were trying to find the missing cups."

"It is my concern. That was my knife set. It was a gift. A very expensive gift."

"Psh. Hardly. 10 piece? God and weren't they dull. Had to saw my way in. The sharpest blade was the pairing knife. Tiny little thing. No! They were rubbish knives. Probably some mass produced set they sell on the telly at three in the morning. Wood handles. Ha! And the metal, some sort of low-grade alloy. No wonder they couldn't maintain an edge."

"Right. So they were some cheap set. Got it. So you embedded them in God knows what, Christ knows where?"

"I'll buy a new set."

"They were a gift."

"The person obviously didn't like you _that_ much."

"They were from my sister."

"Case and point."

"Sherlock..." John clenched his jaw, his leg felt like it was being jabbed with pins and needles. "And the silverware?" John ventured to ask.

"Not even real silver. I hope they weren't a gift as well"

"Right, but, where is it?"

"Oh, it's hardly of any use in its current state."

"Current state?" John's pitch increased. His leg was on fire now.

"Smelted."

"Ah." John grabbed at his leg. Trying to rub the pain away. If he could only get to his pain pills. "Why!?" He cried out.

"I needed silver! You would believe 'silver' 'ware' would at least have some trace amounts of silver in it. Wrong! The melting temperature was far too high, even considering the amount of impurities."

"Ah! Cups!" John shouted as he fell to the ground, clutching on to his leg.

"Dear John, what ever is the matter?" Sherlock turned around. He was absolutely grinning.

"You! God! Damned! Bastard!" John screamed through clenched teeth. Sherlock's smile turned to a scowl. His brows furrowed. "You're enjoying this... like that fucking sadist. Who enjoyed watching his partner fucking DIE!" Sherlock's face went blank.

_My... What am I doing? John is in terrible pain! Pain I’ve caused. Wait... am I feeling remorse? Oh God. Now’s not the time for the 'what have I become' bit. John!_

"Erm." Sherlock stuttered. He made fast pace to the kitchen. John was grabbing at his right leg while trying to kick at Sherlock with the other.

"Go away! Ah!" He grabbed at his leg again.

_What was this? Did I trigger some kind of psychosomatic episode? How do I... What do I do?_

"John! How-"

"Leave me alone!" John cried and tried to back away. He wriggled on the kitchen floor. Defenceless. Crippled in pain.

_God he's in pain. Is the pain real? Of course it's real! But it is purely psychological! It's still pain! I'm arguing with myself!_

"I need to help!" Sherlock yelled at him

"You've done enough!"

"You’re in pain! Pain I’ve caused!"

"Ah! It will go away! Now leave!"

"No it won't!"

"You're not helping!"

"I'm sorry!" Sherlock threw his hands over his mouth.

_Apologising? What have I become? Oh shut up me. God. Why?_

Sherlock fell to his knees. Collapsed and wrapped his arms around John. He fell into John's shoulder.

"Ack..." He fell into John's _bad_ shoulder. Did John have any good parts left on his body? Was Sherlock? Oh God. Here it comes.

"I'm so sorry." Sherlock sobbed. John was so uncomfortable. This was the worst day, by far. My God, the socio-path was sobbing uncontrollably into John's bad shoulder.

John gave Sherlock’s shoulder a gentle pat. "There, there. It's all right." There was sniffling. Oh... God... did he wipe his nose on John's shirt?

"It's not all right. I am such a... such a"

"Yeah you're an ass. I know."

"I am not an ass. I'm a... I'm a..." Oh God. He'd never cried like this before. John imagined Sherlock would be much more composed. Not some blubbering fool, who after all these years, had finally given in and had himself a proper cry. Perhaps he would sleep well tonight. John let out a sigh. Wishful thinking.

John's pain was easing up. Down to pin pricks. His shoulder creaked as Sherlock breathed his heavy sobs. This was embarrassing. John looked straight forward. He didn't feel any of Sherlock's sadness, just utter indifference. Last thing Baker Street needed was two blubbering idiots.

There was a faint knock at the door. _Tap tap._ Mrs Hudson, popping by for an unannounced visit. John just lay there, staring at the ceiling.

This was his life. An unexpected journey. There and back again. With a big old lug, with too much brains for his own good.

Sherlock sat up. Wiped the tears from his eyes and sniffled. John laid, perfectly still, in anatomical position, staring at the ceiling. Not caring. Channelling his inner Sherlock.

Mrs Hudson stepped in. Saw Sherlock, sitting on the floor, his knees to his chest. Eyes red from crying, his cheeks tear stained. And there lie Dr. Watson. Unmoving. Staring at the ceiling.

"Oh Sherlock. You didn't" Mrs Hudson looked at him in disbelief. Sherlock wiped his nose with his sleeve.

"I'm all right" John mumbled. Mrs Hudson jumped and placed a hand to her rapidly beating heart.

"Oh. Dear. John. You right near... you gave me one hell of a fright. I thought Sherlock had finally..." She let out a sigh of relief. "Sherlock, I've come to return your tea cups. Thanks for letting me borrow em." She placed a cardboard box on their kitchen counter. The contents made several little clinking sounds as she set it down.

Mrs. Hudson placed a hand on her good hip. She gave the boys a quick look over. "You two." She shook her head. She turned around and made her way out of the flat. She continued to shake her head. "I'm heading out for the night. You two behave!" She shouted and shut the front door.

John's eyes were half lidded. He was not amused, angry, sad, or anything. He was emotionless. He had just wanted a cup of tea. That was all.

"Are you done?" He asked.

"John I'm..."

"No, no." John brought a finger up and pointed at the air. "I asked. Are you done?"

"I... suppose" Sherlock was slowly regaining composure. "John I'm really..."

"Tut. Tut." John pointed his finger at Sherlock "No more. Don't you ever say you're sorry or apologise again. You are not a sadist. You got me all worked up and-"

"John I..."

"Sh sh!" John warned. "No more. You're done. You are going to help me up. Go wash your face. And we're going to go on with our lives, pretending like this never happened."

"John I really am..." John groaned. He placed his hands over his face.

"Sherlock. God. If I ever see you crying like that again I'm going to just chin you. Now I'm serious. No more. You are a grown man. It isn't remotely endearing seeing you cry. It is an embarrassing sight. Now help me up." Sherlock was so utterly confused. Why would John strike him if he started crying again? Wouldn't that make him cry more?

_When did I get all these... emotions? I can't handle all these 'feelings'..._

_"_ Damnit John. I hate you." Sherlock snivelled. John laughed. He laughed hard. His laughs were low and were splitting his sides. "Now you’re laughing at me. John. You are sick." John sat up on his own, looked Sherlock in the eyes, and drew him in for a kiss. He let go to look at Sherlock's stunned face.

"You are so... you" John laughed

"Who else would I be?" Sherlock furrowed his brow. John put his hand on Sherlock's shoulder and used it to hoist himself up.

"Ah..." He let out a breath. His leg was a bit numb but much better. He held out a hand for Sherlock. Sherlock looked at John's outreached hand. "Come on. How about a cup of tea? I've got cups!" John patted the cardboard box.

"I don't want tea" Sherlock threw his head back.

"Well. What do you want then?"

"Intercourse." John stumbled back. Did he hear right? How could Sherlock possibly think of that at a time like this?

"You were just crying..."

"Uh... I'm uncomfortable."

John looked down. Sure enough, Sherlock was sporting an erection, tenting his trousers.

"Seriously? We were being... so anti-romantic just then. And you... What?"

"I don't know, I'm just aroused. Take care of it."

John pinched the bridge of his nose again. "You know... that has a name... Non sexual arousal... erection lasting an unreasonable amount of time."

"Priapism."

"It doesn't go away with sexual stimulation you know."

"Does for me."

"Of course... you are some sort of expert."

"Hurts."

"Yeah well. It could cause serious damage. It is technically a medical emergency."

"You _are_ a doctor" John looked down at Sherlock. Sherlock let out a low and throaty laugh. This was turning into pornography. Cheap pornography.

"You know what they do? They ice it, stick a rubber band around it, stab it, drain it, then they shunt it." Sherlock winced.

"Can't we just skip that strange foreplay? That doesn't sound like what I had in mind at all."

"If it isn't treated properly, you could have irreversible damage. Erectile dysfunction"

"Unh! It's already dysfunctional" Sherlock moaned "I'd even consider allowing you to satisfy me... _orally_ "

"Oh... you'd allow that. For me? No thanks."

"Just touch it."

"Sherlock, you should go in, this isn't-"

"Touch it..." Sherlock was beginning to growl.

"I am not-"

"Touch it!" Sherlock shot up and lunged at the doctor. He grabbed John's shirt and threw him against the wall.

"Ow. That. This isn't-" Sherlock grabbed John's hand and moved it to his clothed erection. He ground his hips into John's hand. Sherlock moaned. John let out a gasp.

"I know my own body... come on. Let me just-"

John slid his palm down inside Sherlock's trousers. He gave Sherlock's pulsating cock a long stroke. Sherlock shook with pleasure. He pressed into John's hand and John did his best to get a grasp. His arm was at an odd angle, his forearm was stuck.

"Sherlock... could you, erm, loosen your trousers? I'm stuck"

This threw Sherlock off for a moment. His brain was normally two clicks too fast, now it was two clicks behind.

"Oh. Right." Sherlock unbuttoned his trousers and undid the zip, releasing John's hand. Much better. John was able to free Sherlock's cock from his trousers and give it a good look. Erect but not engorged. No signs of haemorrhaging or anything out of the ordinary. He wasn't in any pain.

"Sherlock... You're awful"

"I know" Sherlock drew John in for a kiss and simultaneously thrust into the doctor's hand.

_Who cares how I got the erection? Now I need to get rid of it._

Sherlock embraced John a little more. Allowing for light tonguing. Nothing too coordinated. Sherlock needed to have a quick think.

_Kitchen table. This is my crowning moment. It is my time to..._

_"_ Let's move to the bedroom" John broke the kiss.

_No! Absolutely no! I will have you on this kitchen table, John Watson. You will be spewing your seed over yesterday's newspaper and like it!_

_"_ Ok" Sherlock drew John in again.

_What? I did not just... Why? How am I not listening to myself?_

John slid his grip to Sherlock's base and held him there.

_Right. Of course I'm not listening to myself. John has me by the lead and I'm just bobbing along._

John grabbed Sherlock's hand to lead him to the bedroom. Sherlock shook him off.

_I will not be lead by the hand to bed. No exceptions._

John grabbed Sherlock's forearm and half-dragged him instead.

_I'm being lead... not by the hand though. Slight improvement. I don't even want to go to the bedroom._

Sherlock dug his heels into the floor, just as they were passing the threshold to his bedroom. John gave Sherlock's arm another tug. Stubborn. Like leading a horse to water. He wanted it. Said he did. John was trying to give it to him. Why was he trying to appease an unwilling man? He was so close to the bed. He could just, grab Sherlock about the torso, give him a good shove, and then all would be well. So he did!

John grabbed Sherlock and threw him on to the bed. Sherlock landed face first onto the pillows. He remained, unmoving.

John began to unbutton his own t-shirt. He paused at the fifth button. Oh right, Sherlock didn't want a strip-tease next time and this was the 'next time'. He wasn't even looking. Right. He could keep it unbuttoned then, he'd likely be sweaty in a moment anyhow. Sherlock mumbled something indiscernible into the pillows.

"Hm?" John asked. Sherlock mumbled louder, his voice was muted by the pillows. John crawled on to the bed and rolled Sherlock over. "What now?"

"I wanted it on the table." Sherlock muttered.

"It's too late. You said you were fine with the bed."

"Unh. I changed my mind."

"If we did everything you changed your mind to, we'd never get anything done." John looked Sherlock over. "Why don't you get undressed then?"

"I don't want to" Sherlock whined.

"Excuse me?" John looked at him unbelievingly.

"You do it..." Sherlock flattened himself completely on his back. He laid his arms at his sides, palms up. His feet as well as his eyes were pointed toward the ceiling. Anatomical position. John smiled. He could take his time undressing Sherlock. Given that Sherlock didn't get impatient. John started at Sherlock's collar.

"Again with the shirt! Leave it."

"Sorry! Old habit. Used to there being... something to look at under the shirt."

"Just get it over with. I'm losing blood flow." John looked down. Sherlock was as hard as ever, with his cock on display outside his trousers.

"Oh, shut up. I'll take as long as I please" Sherlock seriously considered just undressing himself quickly and getting it over with. That would take _effort._

John took his focus off Sherlock's shirt. Moving down to Sherlock's trousers. He was mostly undone. John paused. Gave it a thought. "Hm" He said inquisitively. Classic physician sound.

"Just pull them down round the ankles. We'll do it as we did the last time. It seemed to work just fine." Sherlock had a way of making sex sound so… not sexy. John placed his hand around Sherlock's shaft and gave him a gentle stroke. "Hm" he said again.

"My... would you quit 'Hm'-ing?" Sherlock moaned.

"Hm" John said mockingly.

"Trousers, round the ankles. Is that so hard?"

"No... but you are... so hard. Hm. It would be so cruel just to tease you like this." John stroked even slower. It was a mix of painful pleasure for Sherlock who wanted satisfaction and he wanted it now!

"Stop... you know how I absolutely despise this form of foreplay. Just get on with it!"

"Hm." John said. He bent down. His face was becoming alarmingly close to Sherlock's cock.

"What? Don't you... no that's just disgusting. I told you-" John gave Sherlock a lick. Sherlock shuddered at the sensation.

_No. This is abhorred. You hate this! Above all things!_

John licked from base to tip and swirled his tongue around the orifice.

_Mind... can't... do that... thing... Unh so good. What can't mind... do?._

John gave the glans a kiss. Sherlock was making a sound that was like... purring? John tried not to laugh. Time to do this properly. Ground rules had to be set.

"Push me down on you and I'll kill you." John reached his lips down again. Then brought them back "Oh and tell me before you come, not after." Sherlock moaned.

_Just do it already._

_"_ Oh and Sherlock. Another thing..." John smiled. He was loving this teasing.

"John! By God! WHAT!?" Sherlock shouted in frustration. John wrapped his mouth around Sherlock's cock and took him as far as he could without gagging. Sherlock's mind went wild. His toes curled. He groaned loud. His hands were frantically searching for something to hold on to. John was sliding up and down Sherlock's shaft. Sherlock needed to do something with his hands. He grabbed John's hair in desperation. John took his mouth off.

"Oi! Hands to yourself!" Sherlock let go. His face was lost.

_What am I supposed to do with my hands?_

John went down on him again. Sherlock slapped his hands against his own chest. They kept moving, rubbing his pectoral muscles. He was wriggling his hips with pleasure. This was amazing. He threw his arms behind his head and rubbed his head against his upper arm. He bit his bottom lip. He felt something coming on. He wasn't too sure with orgasms; he didn't have much experience in them.

_Am I? Wait what was I supposed to do when I was..._

"Oh... Unh!" Sherlock's hips bucked. John removed his mouth just in time to get hit in the eye with Sherlock's load.

"Christ. Jesus Sherlock. Fucking." John clenched his eye shut and rubbed it with his sleeve. His eye stung. "Fucking fuck... God you... fucking wanker. You shot me in the fucking eye!"

"John, sorry, I didn't. I wasn't sure what-"

"Don't you dare start apologising. I don't need this right now." John climbed off the bed. He tried blinking. He wouldn't go blind from the encounter but it still stung like hell. Right, he wanted his now. "Come here, it's my turn" John undid his trousers just enough to release his cock.

"You aren't going to gouge my eye out are you?" Sherlock asked in sincere concern. Eye for an eye.

"No, I'm not as vindictive as you are." John grabbed the lubricant from the side table drawer. He squeezed a bit on his palm and placed the tube on the table top. He began stroking himself. He squinted his eye and rubbed it against his shoulder. He was a terrible sight to look at. He looked positively deranged. He was avoiding getting lubricant in his eye as well. "Get over here."

"I'm not doing that... thing you did... I can't possibly" Sherlock was stunned at how well John performed oral sex. Had he practised? He'd never been with a man before Sherlock, so how did he know how to do that so well? Seeing as he lacked in other sexual activities, this was a pleasant surprise. Sherlock might make this a habit. God it was foul, but how he enjoyed it. Sherlock grimaced at the thought of returning the favour. So unsanitary.

_I could end up getting shot in the eye like John. How was I supposed to know I was having an orgasm? It all comes on so suddenly._

"Sherlock. Come here. I'm not going to force you into sucking me off." John blinked his eye. His vision was returning. "You're getting yours for being an absolute git, all fucking day." John's tone and choice of words didn't make Sherlock want to come near him. He sat up and scooted away from John. "Would you just... Come on!" John moved to the other side of the bed. Sherlock watched him cautiously. "I'm just going to bugger you while you're bent over the mattress. Come on." Oh well, when he put it that way.

"No!" Sherlock shouted.

_That's my apparent fantasy! I'm supposed to be the one doing the act! Not being acted upon._

"I'm in no mood to argue. I'm not putting up with it for another minute." John waited. Sherlock let out an overly dramatic sigh and rolled on to his stomach. His feet hanged off the side of the bed. John pulled him by the hips to the edge of the bed. John was the perfect height for this position. Sherlock was bent over the mattress; John was living out Sherlock's dream.

Sherlock let out a heavy sigh. He laid his arms to his sides and sunk in to the bedding. John knelt and pulled down Sherlock's trousers, down around the ankles.

Damn. John left the lubricant on the other side of the bed. Well, he would have to go fetch it.

"Wait right there."

"Unh. Do you ever think anything through?" Sherlock moaned. John ignored him while he retrieved the lubricant and brought it back over to Sherlock's waiting ass. He would thank him later.

"Right. Turn your head to the side and give us a cough." John chuckled to himself.

"What... are you giving me an exam?" Sherlock furrowed his brow. Were they role-playing? That's loathsome.

John put a good some of lubricant on his middle finger. He was determined not to give Sherlock a prostate examination while he was prepping him. Perhaps he should, given the circumstances of Sherlock's penile dysfunctions. Or he could just bugger him. Right, that sounded much better. He was turned on once more.

He brought his lubricated finger to Sherlock's entrance. Waited for him to relax and gently inserted his finger. He couldn't help but point his finger downward, giving the prostate a quick once over. Sherlock bit the bed spread. John let slip a "Hm". Sherlock moaned in detest. John grinned.

He made a circular motion with his finger. Sherlock moved a bit. John drew in another finger. His fingers moved gently, with precision. John’s hips were starting to move on their own. He was aching with need. Yet he wanted to see Sherlock squirm. Was that terrible? Sherlock had treated him so poorly all day. It was about time the doctor got his. John withdrew his fingers and gave Sherlock a light pat on the bum.

Right. He hesitated. Not sure if he was willing to go through with this. He stroked himself a bit while he thought, he let his trousers fall down past his knees. Sherlock moved his hips up in impatience. The sight made John give out a small laugh. He grabbed Sherlock's hips and lined himself up. He stopped to run his finger down Sherlock's clothed spine. Sherlock moved his hips up again. This was going to be a blast.

John pressed himself against Sherlock's entrance. He eased in slowly and stopped when the pressure was too tight to move further. He had a trick for this. He placed a hand on Sherlock's lower lumbar region and massaged. Sherlock relaxed his abdomen, let his hips drop, and straightened his spine. John was able to ease in his full length. Now he waited. He rolled his shoulders, turned his neck side to side, and repositioned his grip. He was ready.

He gave a steady thrust and Sherlock let out a groan. John waited a moment, his veins carried pure pleasure. Sherlock was wriggling about in impatience. He was such a prat. At least he wasn't providing sexual commentary. John eased back, and gave another thrust forward.

Sherlock was losing his patience for this pace quickly. He appeared to be holding back from speaking. Sherlock couldn't hold back much longer. The urge to bitch and moan was too strong. He let his mouth open to say something. John dug into Sherlock's hips with his fingers. He let out several rapid thrusts and started to grunt. He heard Sherlock start to speak again. He had to pick up the pace to keep him from talking! John planted his feet firmly and readied himself.

He started out with a pace much too fast for him to maintain. He was going at it full force. Sherlock was wailing with the shocks of pleasure. John couldn't keep the pace and was fading fast. His heart was racing. Sherlock was starting to make hostile demands "Harder! Come on!" John placed a hand on Sherlock's back and tried to pound away faster. He couldn't satisfy Sherlock's need to be blasted into oblivion. John had to stop, he was sweating hard; his breathing was laboured. His left hamstring cramped at the worst possible time.

"Ah!" He yelled. This was frustrating. Sherlock went to speak. John grabbed his hips tighter and thrust through the pain. It was his turn to give sexual commentary. "All the God damn! Fucking! Commentary! You. Can't. Shut. The. Fuck. Up. For. Two. God. Damned. Minutes." John pounded in between words. He clenched his jaw and hissed through his teeth. "You just do. What. Ever. You. God. Damn. Please!" He gave an especially hard thrust at the end. Sherlock was in shock. "And. Unh. God. Mm. Fuck." John panted and grunted. "You. Just." He was so damn close. "Ah... CUPS!" He gave a last thrust and felt the rushing relief rip through him.

He held Sherlock's hips tight. He was absolutely euphoric. He saw stars and planets. He was near blind from the release. He felt himself coming back from his trip off this world. He blinked and he was back in Sherlock's room. He pulled out, stumbled, and fell on the bed next to Sherlock. They were both bent over the side of the mattress, hip to hip.

John closed his eyes. His feet pulsated. He loved that feeling. It was a good sign that he really had an amazing release. He started to drift off. He felt completely relaxed.

Then he felt a sharp stinging slap on his ass. His eyes shot open. Sherlock was standing next to the bed.

"You talk too much" Sherlock pulled up his trousers, buttoned them, and did up the fastener. John ran a hand over his face and groaned.

"Sherlock... you never shut the hell up." John clamped his eyes shut, willing himself to drift off to sleep. Sherlock let out a low throaty laugh. John opened one eye. "What is so damned funny?"

"You." He chuckled. Sherlock pressed his shins against the bed, gripped the side of the mattress, and started humping at the air.

"What in-" John started. Sherlock made exaggerated moans and started grunting.

"You. Never. Fuck. My. Fuck. OH! CUPS!" He faked an orgasm and fell on to the bed laughing hysterically. John looked at Sherlock with a scowl on his face.

"Git." John huffed.

"Cups" Sherlock retorted.

"Oh, shut up" John pressed his hand against Sherlock's face. John's trouser pocket vibrated and pinged.

"Phone."

"No shit." John reached down and fished out his mobile from his trousers on the floor. He checked the message.

**Haven't heard word for hours. Please respond. Sending Donovan if you don't respond promptly. -GL**

John went to respond. Sherlock snatched John's phone away and threw it across the room. The battery case broke off, again.

"Sherlock! Greg will be sending over you know who if you don't behave!"

"Not her division."

"If she had the possibility of seeing you arrested? It would become her division."

"Well! Better send Lestrade a text saying she'd better bring back-up"

"Sherlock... what are you-"

"I have a vendetta with a tea set and the night will most likely end with gun fire!" Sherlock shouted as he left his bedroom. John shut his eyes, assured that Sherlock could not possibly find his new hiding spot for the handgun. It was in a place he would never look. It was sheer genius on John's part.

"In the vacuum bag? Really John?"

John jumped to his feet and went to run to the living room. His feet became tangled in his trousers. He fell to the ground, hard.

BANG! BANG! BANG!

John heard the distinct sound of ceramic shattering. John held his head in his hands.

Sherlock Holmes. The only man in the world who would be:

"JEALOUS OF BLOODY FUCKING TEA CUPS!"


	3. Xenon Difluoride

John settled down into his arm chair, he was all tucked up in his dressing gown, his hair wet and ruffled. He set his coffee on the side table, gave his head a scratch, stretched his arms at the shoulders and made an exaggerated yawn. He blinked and shook his head. Sherlock wandered out of his bedroom and made his way through to the living area. He was also wearing a dressing gown.

_Aren't they quaint?_

Sherlock walked around John and went for his own chair. He, very subtlety, ran his long fingers along the back of John's chair and barely brushed John's right shoulder with his finger tips. John gave him a look from head to toe and back again. He gave a small smile.

When he smiled at Sherlock his eyes softened, it appeared he was quite fond of his flatmate. Hadn't he always been? However, the look he gave Sherlock wasn't a typical male response to just his ‘flatmate’ walking into the room. Even his eyes gave a look of pure content. There was something more between them.

They do say opposites attract. This statement is rather misleading. It would suggest that two polar opposite people would get along swimmingly. While a bond can be formed and it can be rather strong, a little trouble sweeps in, the water rises, and the bond dissolves. This was hardly the type of chemistry that Dr. Watson and Sherlock Holmes had.

If one squinted and twisted their head enough, these two men were very much alike. They were kindred spirits and very much similar.

The majority of successful couples have a more covalent type of bond. Both partners have an emptiness in their lives and they work together to fulfil each other's needs. However Sherlock didn't _need_ anyone. He was already quite fulfilled. He could have gone his entire life without sharing any bit of himself with another person. He was a Noble Gas, if you will. And I know you will.

Then along came the good doctor. He had the most need of any person on the planet and was so desperate to fill the void. Sherlock was never one to form attachments to anyone but this wasn't just anyone. John needed him so much. He worshipped the man. Sherlock unknowingly shared himself with the doctor. A bond had formed and if broken, Sherlock would lose a part of himself with John, forever.

It was obvious, even at a distance, that John was satisfied with their life together. He seemed so relaxed and light-hearted around a man that would drive any one else out of their mind with his narcissism. Sherlock on the other hand, was more difficult to read. He was for the most part emotionally removed. However, in his eyes there was a glimmer of something...

_Fear_

Sherlock was not at ease like the doctor. He was always tense, on edge, and stiff. His face was stoic, but inside him there stirred anxiety. He was making mistakes. Mistakes he would have never have made before. He was becoming something he didn't understand. He was slipping. Was that what scared him?

He was in a dangerous positive feedback loop. The more mistakes he made the more his fear grew. Over two short months, he was starting to become... _dependent._ Something had to be done to remedy the situation. Perhaps there was room for one more in this bizarre relationship. Perhaps that someone could balance the charge. Then, when the time was right, break the bond.

_Enjoy yourselves gentlemen because soon... very soon... Someone special is coming for dinner._


	4. The Break Up

It was a lovely Sunday morning. The weather was not too hot, not too cool. Outside was calm and quiet. Sunshine was beaming through the windows, highlighting all the spots on the carpet that could use a bit of hoovering. The flat was cleaner than usual. John could place his coffee on the side table without having to move a stack of books, failed experiments, or medical curiosities. Table tops for the most part were clear of debris. There was a clear pathway to the nearest fire exit. Even the skull was in its proper place, on the mantel; he appeared to be smiling. The flat hadn't looked this good in quite some time.

John was freshly showered and looking quite dashing in his blue striped dressing gown. He had his newspaper and cup of coffee. He was quite content. This was the first good night's sleep he had had in a long time. Sherlock had finally decided that they should share a bed. It only took John falling down a flight of stairs. He had darted from his upstairs room in a panic from a night terror. Sherlock reasoned that John would be far safer if he was in his bed.

John was astonished at how well he slept, seeing as Sherlock practically slept on top of him. He stole the blankets off of John, only let him have one pillow, and shoved John awake if he started snoring. All of this constant motion kept John from having a night terror and somehow he ended up very well rested from the ordeal.

Sherlock on the other hand, looked like he woke up on the wrong side of the bed. Perhaps he even looked like he slept under a bed or on a bed of nails even. His hair was a mess, his eyes were blood-shot in the corners, and he looked exhausted. Last night was the first real sleep he had had in days and somehow it made him more tired. He threw his head back on his chair and looked to the ceiling. He let out a heavy sigh.

"John"

"Hm?" John said mid-sip.

"This is not working."

John placed his coffee on the table once more. "What isn't working?"

"This."

"What's this?"

" _This"_ Sherlock pointed to the surroundings.

"Sherlock I don't understand. _This._ " John mimicked Sherlock's pointing.

" _This_ is not working. We should just call the whole thing off."

"Call what off?"

"Us."

"What about us?"

"My, are you that simple minded?" Sherlock sat up and leaned forward in his chair. "You and I are a mistake. We should split-up" Sherlock separated his hands to illustrate the idea to John who was oblivious.

"S-split-up?"

"Yes, John. We should just give up on this feeble attempt at some kind of an intimate relationship and just go back to as things were."

"Sherlock."

"We can't keep going on like this."

"Sherlock, listen to me."

"We need to move on and put this all behind us."

"Sherlock!" John slammed his fist on the side table to grab Sherlock's attention "How the hell did you come to the conclusion that we should split-up?"

"I-"

"You know what? Just shut-up. We are not breaking up. That's final" John sat back and unfolded his newspaper forcibly and pretended to read it.

"Yes we are. I just said-"

"No, we're not. End of discussion" Sherlock sat in silence. He was stunned at how short their discussion had been. He expected John to beg and plead for him to stay. There would be dramatic exits and slamming of doors. This was counter-intuitive.

_This is not going as planned. It is time to change tactics._

"John I-"

"Sherlock, before you go on, listen. We're not breaking up. There's no going back to 'normal'. I can't possibly go back now and neither can you."

"John."

"I don't know for what absurd reason you feel like we're not working out but we are. You are probably just being dramatic and expecting some kind of rise out of me."

_That rotten bastard. He is on to me. He has crossed the line._

"John, I'm not your _bitch_!" Sherlock yelled.

"Oh, no, no, no" John folded his newspaper and placed it on his lap. "You did not just say-"

"That's right John. In your eyes, I'm just your... _sex thing_ "

"Sherlock, oh, Sherlock" John laughed to himself. He shook his head. "You are just all ass sore because you think just because I've been on top more times than not, that you are somehow becoming my bitch."

"Once John. I've only had at it once. That puts us one to four"

"Two to four." John retorted

"Oral sex doesn't count" Sherlock sneered.

"Well, you got off didn't you?"

"Fine, one to _five"_

"How the hell did my pleasuring you make the score one to five?"

"You were on top"

"Oh for fuck's sake." John threw his hands up in the air. "This is not a competition"

"You are correct! If it were a competition I'd be in the running."

"Sherlock... if you want to have sex with me... why don't you?"

"I try! You always end up all over me."

"You never say no! Granted, you say a lot of other shit, but not once have you said 'Hey how about we switch things up?'. I'm not a mind reader!"

"I get caught up in the heat of the moment!"

"Fine! We're not in the moment now! What the hell do you want from me?"

"The kitchen table damnit!"

"Fine! Let's go!"

_Wait what? Am I really going to finally have my fantasy fulfilled? Right here? Right now? This is an unexpected turn of events. Lubricant._

Sherlock jumped out of his chair and ran full speed for the bedroom. He threw open the nightstand's drawer. The whole drawer came out in his hand and the contents spilled on the floor.

_Quick! John will have a change of heart in the time it takes to find the damned lubricant. Aha! Just enough. We need to buy in bulk from now on. Yes! Finally!_

Sherlock ran back in to the living area. He made full speed for the front door, he slammed it shut, and turned the lock. He made his way for the windows, drawing the first set of curtains closed.

_Mycroft doesn't need a clear view of... on second thought..._

Sherlock drew the windows open again.

_No, no. John's privacy. He'd never let me take him in the sitting room again._

Sherlock drew the curtains closed once more. He moved to the other set and closed them as well. The flat was suddenly much darker. Sherlock had donned a smile that was absolutely malicious. He tapped his fingers together. He looked positively evil. John was unsure what he had just gotten himself into. He walked slowly over to John. John gulped. As Sherlock approached, John drew himself further back into his chair. His fingers dug into the arm rests. His ass tensed.

Sherlock stopped in front of John. His smile turned to an ear to ear grin. He looked only slightly less evil. He reached out a long hand for John. John looked at the outreached palm for a moment. He looked around. He tentatively grabbed Sherlock's hand and was pulled up. Sherlock looked down at John.

"Scared?" He raised an eyebrow.

"No..." John hesitated.

"Liar." Sherlock snorted. His eyes lightened and his grin went from ear to ear to just a corner of his mouth. John let out a sigh of relief. "Come on" He grabbed John's hand once more and brought him to the kitchen. Sherlock flicked on the kitchen light, it buzzed as it clicked on. Fluorescent lighting cast down on John. The kitchen floor was frigid, and the ambiance made him feel like he was at the morgue with the slab out in front of him. No wonder Sherlock wanted to perform the deed here.

"Right. Hands on the table. Legs spread. Drop the robe" Sherlock looked at John who was clutching his robe tight. "Don't be frightened. I have you"

"And that's why I'm frightened..."

Sherlock laughed. John lessened his grip on his dressing gown. He drew in a deep breath. He turned his back to Sherlock. He was about to de-robe when Sherlock grabbed him from behind. He hugged him close. His breathed on to John's neck. John's shoulders relaxed. Sherlock gave him a light kiss.

This was his way of saying thanks. John knew Sherlock would never tell him in precise words how much he appreciated that John would do this for him. It wasn't in his character. Sherlock rubbed his hips into John's backside. John could feel him and he was very ready.

It amazed John at how little it took to get Sherlock excited. John pulled away Sherlock's hands and took off his robe, completely revealing himself. The kitchen was freezing, a chill ran down John's spine, and goose bumps formed on his forearms. John placed his hands on the kitchen table and placed his feet apart. He shivered slightly. Sherlock bent over and placed a kiss on the back of John's right shoulder. He couldn't help but grin as Sherlock pulled away.

"Finally" Sherlock couldn't help but say it out loud. He undid the front of his robe. He grabbed the lubricant bottle from his robe's pocket. Sherlock breathed heavily, his heart pounded. He squeezed the rest of the bottle on to his hand. He slicked himself up as best he could, his hands shook with excitement. He grabbed a hold of John's hips and his hands slid. He wiped his hands on his front then tried to get the lubricant off John's hips with the edge of his robe.

_Damn, now I won't be able to get a good hold. I can't believe I didn't wipe my hands first, amateur mistake. Well, now or never._

Sherlock grabbed John's hips once more and brought himself close. He lined up and drew in a breath. He waited for John to relax enough. When he finally saw John's tension release, he rammed it in, hard. John's knee jerked up and he was practically climbing the table. Sherlock pulled him back and waited a moment. John's head fell into his hands. His teeth were clenched. Sherlock kept still, waiting for John to relax. He couldn't move if he tried. John finally let out a breath.

"God damnit Sherlock, that fucking hurt." John rubbed his head into his hands. Sherlock was waiting for the go ahead. He feared John was in too much pain to continue.

_God! Why couldn't I have eased it in? I had to ruin my chances. Self-sabotage. He'll never let me have him like this for as long as he lives._

John stopped writhing and assessed his pain. No bleeding, no rupture, but damnit, did that hurt like a bitch. Never again. Yet he didn't want to disappoint Sherlock.

"Just go for it. Don't hold back." John sucked in a breath and pressed up on his hands again. He decided nothing could hurt as bad as the initial thrust. Sherlock looked around for a moment. Was this really what he wanted?

_Yes!_

He gripped John's hips and took in another deep breath. He gave three quick thrusts. He felt a rush of pleasure and decided not to hold back. He went at it, fast paced and not letting up. Sherlock bit his bottom lip, John was grunting with each thrust, it was becoming too much. This was what he had imagined for so long, John bent over, taking his full length in rapid thrusts. Then a fire began in Sherlock's lower abdomen. "Uh" Sherlock groaned. The fire was starting to grow rapidly.

_It's too soon, I can't..._

Without warning, he felt the release without relief. He grabbed John tight and held him there. A wave of pleasure fell over him. Then it was placed with sheer anger. His blood began to boil. He tried another few thrusts. He gritted his teeth. He pulled out. He was soft.

"No, no!" He shouted. John pushed himself off the table and went to put a hand on Sherlock's shoulder. Sherlock grabbed the edge of the table and threw it against the wall. He roared with anger. He retreated to the sofa, pulled his robe in tight and tied it. He threw himself against the couch.

"Sherlock, it's ok" John stood, naked in the kitchen.

"God damnit, John!" He slammed his fist against the coffee table "It's not ok!" He grabbed at his hair and yelled "I wasn't even close to done!"

"Sherlock... it happens, seriously. We'll just have another go at it."

"John! The refractory period. It could be hours, days even" Sherlock let go of his hair and let his arms go loose. John made his way over to the sofa.

"Days... you are such... Listen, we'll just have to get it up again."

"I doubt you can."

"Well, then we'll have fun trying." John lay down on Sherlock's chest. He gave him a light kiss and smiled. Sherlock frowned at him. He was going to be as difficult as possible.

John reached down and started fondling Sherlock's cock. He went in for a kiss and Sherlock turned his head away. John rolled his eyes. He leaned in and blew in Sherlock's ear. Sherlock turned his head away further and exposed his neck. John sunk in a deep kiss under Sherlock's jaw. He was going to leave a love bite twice as large as the one Sherlock gave him. He was going to have twice as much fun trying to cover it up.

John decided to leave another, this time right at the base of the neck at the shoulder. He ran his tongue down and this time sunk his teeth in a bit. Sherlock winced. His cock gave a twitch in John's hand. It was just starting to regain blood flow. John began to stroke faster.

Sherlock let out a small moan. John decided it was time to speed up the process. He slid off the couch and on to his knees on the floor.

"Sit up. I know a way to make this go much faster"

"No!" Sherlock groaned, unmoving. "I don't want it like that"

"It's just to get you hard again. I promise."

"Uh. It's so disgusting."

"Shut up, you love it"

"Unh" Sherlock grunted as he sat up. John wasted no time, pulling Sherlock’s half-hard cock into his mouth. Sherlock closed his eyes and placed his head on the back of the sofa. John was right, it was an amazing feeling. It was only a matter of time before Sherlock was going to have to return the favour, which made him apprehensive towards the sexual act. Reciprocity. "Mm" Sherlock was fast becoming erect once more.

_God I could just come right now and not tell him in time. Oh how he would hate that._

The thought made Sherlock smile. He was absolutely naughty at times. John let go and Sherlock's eyes shot open. He was right, that was much faster. Now how long could it last? Sherlock looked confused at his surroundings.

_Never crossed my mind to have at it on the sofa. Hm. How do we make it work?_

Sherlock stood and looked over the sofa.

_Not enough room if we're both lying down. John could..._

"Um. Sherlock"

"Shut up. I'm going to need to..."

"Are you serious? Your mind palace? At a time like this?"

"Yes, it is as perfect time as any. Now turn your face, look away." John huffed and turned away. Sherlock shut his eyes. A whirl of information came to him. It was all a blur until he set his mind to a copy of _Kamasutra_. The entire book, page by page, in vivid detail. Sherlock flipped through the book stored in his brain like an electronic reader. He ran his finger down the table of contents. Completely useless; written in Sanskrit. He had to search through the illustrations.

_Angle is all wrong. Not that one. Is that anatomically possible? No. No. No. This book is useless, why is it in my mental library? I'm deleting it tomorrow. This one might work but... wait there's one with three people._

Sherlock made a disgusted face. He was taking too much time for such a simple task. John began to think all of his blood flow left his brain.

"Um... Sherlock?" John smacked his lips "How about I just put my legs on your shoulders like we did that one time."

"Sh! I'm still looking."

John's brow furrowed. Looking at what? What was he doing in his head? Was this so hard? Sherlock spent less time looking over a dead body and deducing that the murderer worked on a pig farm and had five children. When it came to positioning, everything had to be perfect. John thought he must have been thinking about the kitchen table for weeks before hand.

John sighed. It was Sherlock's turn to do whatever he wanted. He looked back to see if Sherlock was even still hard.

"John, turn away! I'm almost done"

John was losing his patience. "Look Sherlock..." Sherlock's eyes flew open.

"I have it." He looked into John's eyes.

"Yes?"

"Just as before. I'll kneel on the sofa and you will have your legs on my shoulders, I'll penetrate you that way."

"And... we went through all of that..."

"Don't worry. I'm throwing out the book tomorrow. Utterly useless smut."

"Wait... you read a book? In your head? While we were..." John just let the sentence fade, he fell on to the sofa. "I give up. Just fuck me sideways 'til I scream" Sherlock straddled John on the sofa. He leaned in close. He wrapped his hand around John's cock and started to stroke gently.

"You know what would make this go faster?" John asked grinning.

"You shutting up?" Sherlock drew him in for a kiss. John started moving his hips with Sherlock's strokes. He was aching for more. Sherlock smiled. His smiling was becoming less and less creepy to John. John was now throbbing. Sherlock readied himself for round two.

Sherlock placed his knees between John's legs. He looked down for a moment, John was painfully erect, about to burst. Sherlock looked back up, John's eyes pleaded.

_This is disgusting._

Sherlock moved back on the sofa, winced, and then brought his head close to John's cock. He wrapped his hand around the shaft; stroked for a bit while he gathered some courage. He let his tongue touch the tip and immediately retracted it.

_Salt, pheromones, slightly metallic tasting. Not pleasant in the slightest. I suppose there is desensitization with time. Why?_

He glanced up and John and grimaced.

"Sherlock, you don't-" Sherlock took John's entire length into his mouth. John hit the back of his throat. "Oh, fuck!" He shouted. He brought his hands to his face. Sherlock withdrew half way and went back down. John was trying his best not to buck his hips as Sherlock was sliding his cock as far as it would go. It was too much for John to bear.

He frantically tapped at Sherlock's shoulder. He couldn't mouth the words until it was too late. "Ah... come" Sherlock finally showed he had a gag reflex. Sherlock withdrew with a gasp. He shook his head. His eyes were glazed over from choking. Without an exchange of words, he threw John's legs on to his shoulders and readied the head of his cock at John's entrance.

He grinned. This time he eased his way in. John was pulsating after his orgasm, still lubricated from not long before. John grabbed the back of Sherlock's neck with both his hands and clasped them together. Sherlock started his movements, slow and deliberate. John gyrated against him. Sherlock loved how John moved against him. He remembered the first time John let him in, how he moved so slow that John had to throw him on his back and ride him to try bring himself to orgasm. John was far too good at moving his hips for a man. Sherlock didn't give him enough credit in bed.

Sherlock looked straight into John's eyes. How he wanted to just have John take the reins and fuck him senseless. John appeared to be reading his face. Sherlock had stopped moving. He leaned in and they barely brushed their lips together.

"You want... me to finish?" John asked breathlessly.

"Oh, God, please" Sherlock let John's legs down. He pulled him up and seated him on his hips. Sherlock paused. He could lie on his back, but this position was intriguing. John had his hands wrapped around the nape of Sherlock's neck, Sherlock held on to him. He was suspended in midair, held up by only Sherlock’s hips, his legs were wrapped around Sherlock's torso. Sherlock drew up on to his knees more. He started sliding John up and down and tried a little buck. John let out a gasp. The corner of Sherlock's mouth twitched into a grin.

In one movement he thrust and locked lips with John. He kissed him deep and passionately while he bucked and fucked. John wrapped his legs tighter around Sherlock’s waist and Sherlock got into a smooth rhythm. He gave a rough thrust and John pulled away from the kiss. Without any warning Sherlock started absolutely pounding away. He was a mess, a drop of sweat leaked into his eye and stung. His breath was hard, he wanted release to come and he was no where near. "Ahh" he shouted in frustration. His quadriceps were tight and were beginning to shake. He couldn't let up his pace. His stamina was impressive.

Just when he was about to change positioning from he heard a high pitched squeal.

_That couldn't have come from..._

John was out of breath. He tightened around Sherlock's cock and finally Sherlock felt the warmth rush out of him. He was light-headed. He couldn't see straight. Then the image hit him along with the sound.

He near dropped John on his head. He began laughing so hard. He rocked forward and lay John on his back. Sherlock sat back up, and then fell off the couch and on to the floor. He clutched his side. He tried to stop laughing so hard. He felt a stitch in his side.

"You... and..." Sherlock tried to breathe, he was in so much pain from his low laughter. His laughter rose in pitch, he was giggling uncontrollably. While positioned on Sherlock, John had experienced his first dry orgasm, and out of him escaped the most feminine noise that had ever come out of a man. John had turned red with embarrassment.

Tears were forming in Sherlock's eyes from the laughter. He needed to stop, it was hurting. "John, can't, breathe" He felt pain in his cheeks, he tried to let out a breath. "Ok... ok" he started again. He couldn't help it. It was the funniest thing he had ever seen or heard. He stopped once again. This time he was able to take some deep breaths.

"You done?" John asked. He was becoming quite annoyed.

"Pft... no." Sherlock sputtered. He bit his lower lip trying to keep his laughter in. "God, it hurts. I've never... laughed… so hard" He took some more deep breaths but every time he tried to compose himself the sound kept replaying in his mind.

Finally he was able to calm himself down. He relaxed into the floor. His abdomen ached from the intense laughter. The smile slowly faded from his face. He shut his eyes. He started to drift into sleep. A tear rolled down his cheek and hit the floor.

It was an hour before Sherlock was woken by some sort of... singing. John was singing to himself in the kitchen. Sherlock lifted his head. He furrowed his eyebrows in questioning.

_When did he start singing to himself? It's quaint... I don't like quaint. Do I?_

Sherlock returned his head to the floor. He shut his eyes. John's volume was barely above a mummer, he obviously only sang to himself when he thought nobody was listening. He wasn't half bad, though it was difficult to tell. Sherlock craned his neck to listen in. Then his olfactory receptors were stimulated.

_Bacon_

He smelled the bacon before it crackled in the pan. He was drooling. When did he become conditioned to drool at the smell of bacon? It was fat coated in salt and preservatives. He should be repelled. Instead he lay there gargling his saliva at the thought of thick cut fried bacon.

_Lipids... protein... sodium... bacon..._

He didn't realize he was so hungry. He pushed his body to extremes when it came to eating and now it screamed for bacon. His eyes were fixed on the ceiling. The room spun when he tried to lift his head. John walked over to the coffee table and set his plate of food down. Sherlock was willing the room to stop spinning as he reached out uncoordinatedly for the dish. John saw him struggle and gave a small chuckle. He moved the plate to the floor beside Sherlock's head.

_I've become a dog. A bitch._

Sherlock leaned his head toward the plate. He gathered his strength and rolled on to his side. They still hadn't purchased new silverware and Sherlock refused anything less than pure silver. It didn't matter at the moment, because all Sherlock was interested in was bacon. He clutched all three pieces and devoured them. John was sitting on the sofa, he had crumbs down his front from his toast and jam. He was looking down at Sherlock in shock. He had never seen him ravage his food before.

"More!" Sherlock shouted.

"We only had the five pieces..." Sherlock held out his hand, palm up. He beckoned for John to hand over his bacon. John placed a slice in his hand. Sherlock brought it down and placed the whole piece in his mouth. He reached out his hand again. John sighed. He tore his last piece in half and placed it on Sherlock's open palm. Sherlock didn't move his arm. He beckoned his hand again. "Are you... really?" Sherlock kept his hand still. He wasn't letting up. John rolled his eyes. "Fine!" He shoved the last bit of bacon into Sherlock's hand. In one moment it was gone. "Selfish git"

"Mm."

"Better be enjoying it."

"Tesco. Bacon." Sherlock's speech pattern had regressed into a caveman like state.

"You near ate half a pack of bacon. You don't _need_ any more."

"Want!" Sherlock shouted.

"You want it, you go out and buy yourself some."

Sherlock rubbed his face with his dressing gown’s sleeve. He sat up and leaned his back against the sofa. He threw his head back on the cushion and rolled his head over to look up at John.

"You hate me"

"Sherlock... don't you go into one of your moods. I made you lunch. Eat it." Sherlock kicked the plate with his foot. The plate skidded across the room and came to an abrupt halt on the carpet causing the toast to fly on to the floor. "Sherlock... you are such a child"

"Paedophile"

"Enough! You are going to go pick that up." John brushed the crumbs off his shirt. He had changed into a white t-shirt and pyjama bottoms while Sherlock was taking his nap. He had a spot of jam on his chest. "I said go pick it up. Young man." Sherlock let out a throaty laugh. John pointed to the toast on the floor. He motioned for Sherlock move. John went to stand. Sherlock grabbed him by the wrist.

"Don't leave." Sherlock looked up at him with sad eyes.

"I'm not going anywhere. I'm going to pick up the toast before we get rats."

"Don't."

"Would you like rats in the flat?" John chuckled at the little rhyme. Sherlock continued to stare up at him, willing him not to go. John sat himself down on the floor and pressed his back against the sofa "What's this about then?" Sherlock placed his head on John's shoulder. "If you really want me to go to the store and get us some bacon, I will."

"No."

"You don't know what you want do you?"

"I want you to stay." Sherlock wrapped his arms around John and drew him into a hug.

"Sherlock... I hate to say this but I have to go." Sherlock clutched tighter. "Sherlock! I have to take a piss. I need to move!" Sherlock lessened his grip. John stood up and Sherlock stood up with him. John made way for the toilet. Sherlock placed forehead against John's back and walked, slumped over. "You're not coming in with me." Sherlock waited against the wall as John slipped into the bathroom. Sherlock threw his head back against the wall with a thud. "Why don't you get yourself dressed?" John shouted through the closed door. There was a flush, a turning of the faucets; then John turned open the door handle and poked his head out.

"Get yourself dressed." Sherlock turned his head to John. John grabbed Sherlock's hand and pulled him to his room. Sherlock looked quite depressed, his eyes drooped, his shoulders were slumped, and he stared at nothingness. John went through Sherlock's dresser and searched for some loungewear. He threw bottoms and a top at Sherlock. They hit him in the chest and fell to the floor. John paid no attention and searched for a pair of underwear. He threw it at Sherlock's face and he didn't even blink.

"I'm not going to dress you, now come on." John went to leave the bedroom, Sherlock turned to follow. John placed a hand against Sherlock's chest. "You are not leaving this room, until you are fully dressed and out of your robe." John pulled his hand away and slowly backed his way out of the door. He walked back to the living area.

John bent over and picked up the plate and toast. Perfectly good jam and toast, ruined. Sherlock was probably just going to stand in his room, with his dressing gown undone in the front, staring off into space, possibly for hours. John turned to go to the kitchen. He jolted and dropped the plate on to the ground and it crashed into two pieces. Sherlock stood before him, fully clothed.

"God Sherlock, don't scare me like that." John made his way to the kitchen's bin and Sherlock pressed his forehead against John's back again and followed. The table was leaning on its side, one of the legs had cracked from being thrown against the wall. John sighed as he threw the plate away. He took a wide turn and led them back to the sofa. John took a seat. Sherlock lay down on his side and placed his head on the doctor's lap. John stroked Sherlock's curls. He let out a low growl in detest. John gave his head a scratch instead. Sherlock purred in content.

"I have come to the conclusion... Mr Holmes... That we are indeed an odd couple." Sherlock nodded his head in agreement.

Sherlock shot up suddenly. He listened in.

_A creak, on the fifth step. A drawn out creak. Someone is attempting to sneak up the staircase unnoticed._

"John." Sherlock motioned toward the door.

John moved from the sofa and went for his handgun in the desk. He held it steady, aimed at the door. Sherlock's eyes went wide. He knew precisely who was making their way up to the flat. Tonight was going to be interesting.

_Finally._


	5. A Red Silk Tie

John felt the world coming back to him. His eyes were open but everything was in a haze. He tried to make out the vague shapes in the room. When he lifted his head slightly, he felt an intense nausea hit him. He lay his head down and shut his eyes. He couldn't feel his own eyelids though they were clamped tight. He rocked his head side to side and clutched at his stomach. Then with a few blinks the room came rushing into clear view. He had his head turned to the sofa. Sherlock was gone.

He remembered little. The figure had made its way up their stairs. It had given up its stealthy approach and let the stairs creak as it made its way to the door. Sherlock heard the tumblers in the lock click. _A lock pick._ Whoever was at their door had experience, perhaps even experience with this particular door. They made quick work of the lock.

John had waited for the door handle to turn with his gun held at the ready. Instead he heard a shuffle. The light from under the door was being cut off.

"John! The windows!"

John drew up his shirt and covered his mouth and nose with his hand. He made way for the windows. John set his gun on the desk. Sherlock sat still, staring wide eyed at the door. John heard the hiss; he pinched his nostrils closed and drew in a last breath. He frantically pulled up at the window, unable to make it budge. He needed use of both hands. He let go of his shirt, drew his eyes shut, and pulled.

John had just started coming to; some time had passed since he had lost consciousness. His head was throbbing, yet he hardly had any other feelings. Even with his eyes closed he felt like he was spinning. The nausea was intense; he turned a pale shade of white. Yet he could not bring himself to release the contents of his stomach. He lay writhing from the discomfort. He started to regain feeling in his extremities.

Then he felt the stab in his left shoulder. He winced, clenched his teeth, and tried to grab at the needle. He felt a sudden rush of comfort. His nausea dissipated. He felt like he was melting into the floor boards. His face relaxed. He felt warm inside, it was like he was snuggling a small furry kitten. He could almost hear a small mew. He pet at the air and smiled drunkenly.

He snapped back to reality when he heard a "Hm". He turned his head to the sound. He had to stare for quite some time for his brain to catch up. It was a woman. _The woman._ John let out a groan. He wondered if she was a hallucination, a side effect of the drug he had been administered. She had a smug look on her face, her hair was tied back into a tight bun, she wore a short silk dress. Her chest was bare and John could see her collar-bone and first few ribs jutting out. He felt nauseous once more.

"Xenon." She said with an essence of pride in her voice. She believed herself very clever. "Colourless, odourless, tasteless." She strode over, next to Dr. Watson's head. "Only the best for the consulting detective and his blogger." She pushed John's cheek with the toe of her shoe. She moved his head to the side. "Powerful anaesthetic, rapid induction. Near ideal." She let out a tsk. "Pity it’s so expensive. So difficult to get a hold of. Otherwise I’d use it _much_ more frequently." She pressed her toe harder against John's cheek. He moaned. "Not to worry. Perfectly safe. No permanent neurological effects." She let her foot up. She stood tall over the doctor's still body. She smiled.

"No need to move. Just watch. Try your very best to pay attention." She pulled a phone out of thin air. John wondered where she managed to store it. Her dress didn't seem to have any pockets. It was hardly a dress even, more like a silk sheet pulled around her thin frame. She flipped through her phone. Her pupils dilated slightly and the corner of her mouth twitched when she found what she was looking for. She leaned down slowly, propped the phone on its side, and placed it next to John's face. John tried his best to view the video with the intention of memorising every last detail. It could be of importance.

The camera had been propped up, on some sort of table, and was pointed at a wing-back arm chair which was seated in the corner of a room. The room was dim lit with dark red fleur-de-lis wallpaper. Two men walked with haste into the frame. The camera only show their torsos. They were dressed to the nines.

One man went to prop an object against a wall, off screen. He started pulling at the tie around his neck. He removed it promptly and placed it on the table which held the hidden camera. The camera focused in on the red silk tie, which made the men in the background appear hazy. They were completely out of focus as they made way for the arm chair.

John tried to pick up any distinguishing characteristics to identify the men. The shorter of the two bent over and grabbed the back of the arm chair. His partner wasted no time, he undid the other man's trousers, as well as his own, he hardly slid them half way down his bum, and he buggered the man right there. He thrust methodically. He stood with a rigid back as he made work of the other man's ass. John was taken aback a moment. He frantically tried to identify the two men going at it. They were likely of high power. Why else would Irene Adler show him such a video? The phone’s screen went black.

"Who-"

"Now, now. It wouldn't be any fun if I _told_ you."

John felt his eyes becoming heavy. His last memory before slipping into a narcotic sleep was The Woman looking down at him. Cackling.

"Sherlock!" John shot up out of his sleep. He went to stand and started stumbling over his feet. He made his way, legs unwilling and uncoordinated, toward Sherlock's bedroom. It looked as if he were trying to walk on a floor slicked with oil.

"John. I'm right here." Sherlock said plainly from the sofa. John turned around, stumbled backwards, and fell. He brought himself back up to standing; he was shaking at the knees.

"John... the woman, she was here. Right in our flat" John said

"John, you're John." Sherlock sighed.

"She had. She had a video. Th-the one, with the tie and the chair and the table and the..." John mimicked the buggering bit by placing his hands out and thrusting into the air.

"Ah. So that's why she decided to drop by. Come John, have a seat." Sherlock patted the space beside him. John leaned forward a bit much, stumbled, and fell over the coffee table. He fell face first on to the ground; his feet still hanged on the edge of the table.

"Unh. She think she drugged me." John mumbled with his head under the sofa.

"No, John. You think she drugged you. You are correct. Xenon gas. Much more potent than the general anaesthetics commonly used in operations. Hypnotic after a minute and a half. Analgesia and amnesia shortly after." Sherlock steepled his fingers and brought them to his lips.

"A-nuh-thetic?" John questioned, his tongue suddenly felt like it filled his whole mouth.

"Yes, John. She needed to put us under so she could separate us; get us alone. She showed you a video. Likely blackmail. She needs something. Protection? No. She would come out and say it. She wouldn't hold this over our heads if she didn't want something, something different. John, what can you remember?" Sherlock looked down at John. John had found a penny and a five and ten pence. Ooh a Euro.

"Sherlock! I've stumbled upon the vault in the bank of England!" John reached further back under the sofa. Sherlock grabbed the back of John's t-shirt and pulled him up and on to the sofa.

"Tell me John, what did you see?" Sherlock held John by the shoulders.

"Dust... loads of dust... I found an Euro!" John held it up for Sherlock to see. Sherlock smacked the coin out of John's hand. John looked at the floor disappointedly. "But-"

"Focus! What was on the video you saw? Describe it to me." John closed his eyes, his mouth hanged open. He looked sloshed.

"Uh."

"Yes?" Sherlock asked impatiently.

"Two blokes... in suits... a chair..."

"Yes." Sherlock encouraged him to continue.

"That's all."

"John! You idiot!" Sherlock shook his shoulders "Think, you rat bastard!"

"Oi... you fink... bastard" John pulled back, his chin drawn close to his neck. "You have pretty hair... It's so... Unh" John leaned in and grabbed a handful of Sherlock's locks. "Fluffy"

"Let go."

"No... it's lovely." John drew Sherlock in for a hug. Sherlock sat rigid. John wrapped his arms around Sherlock's torso and squeezed. "Just like you." Sherlock let out an aggravated sigh.

"John, the video."

"Hm?"

"Tell me, in detail, what you saw." John let go. He looked up at Sherlock. He turned away and laid his back down. He set his head on Sherlock's lap and looked straight up Sherlock's nose. John brought up one finger and tapped the tip of Sherlock's nose.

"Boop" John brought his hands to his chest and shut his eyes.

"John..."

"Mm" John mumbled.

"Oh, John dear." John shifted to get more comfortable "Do tell us. What did you see? Speak up now. Before I lay my lovely hands on your throat, and throttle you"

"Pet me." John demanded. Sherlock let out a heavy sigh and started to stroke the doctor's short sandy hair. "Hm..." John went to his mind palace. However it was more of a studio flat in comparison to Sherlock's figurative mansion. His was cluttered with friends and family's birth dates, footballers' wives' names, the name of that show that had three episodes, played at two in the morning, and was discontinued. There were a few useful things, some mathematic equations, medical terminology, practical first aid tactics, how to kill a man with your boot string. In the clutter, John found the phone. It looked identical to the skeleton whore's mobile. He mentally turned it on. Oh it was 'Sher-locked' how cute. John went to the settings, changed the password.

"Ha... now it's John-locked" He snorted. Sherlock shook his head. John stayed firmly in his mind flat. He went to videos. So many pornographies. He might have to save some of these for later. He scrolled down. Hm. Which one was it? He clicked. Yes!

"The camera, it is pushed to the back of a table; there's a reflection on the wood top. Two men come in. They place some of their things off to the side. They don't stop, like they're on a mission. One removes his tie and places it on the table. The camera goes all wonky. One of the two gets it rammed up the ass on a corner arm chair." John opened his eyes "Did I do good?"

"Well. 'Did I do well' and no. Most certainly not. You missed every crucial detail!" Sherlock shouted. "What were the men wearing?"

"Suits?"

"No, exactly, what were they wearing?"

"Uh. One had a red tie."

"Material?"

"Well... looked like silk..."

"Their suits, were they two, three piece?"

John thought a moment. "One bloke had a three-piece... it was tighter round the waste but loose in the trousers. The other wore a two piece, his suit jacket was undone on the bottom."

"Good John, very good" Sherlock stroked John's hair. "Now, tell me, what did the men place off camera?"

"Don't know... one propped something against a wall. Cane perhaps?"

"Perhaps" Sherlock thought. "Now, you say they were having anal sex, the shorter of the two was bent over, holding on to the back of a chair."

"Erm... I think I jus' said they were buggerin'. Said nothing bout height."

"Do try to speak _properly,_ John." Sherlock stopped petting John's hair "Now. What were their heights?"

"One's tall, one's shorter."

"I gathered that, but precisely, how much shorter?"

"Inch... maybe two?" John guessed.

"Their ages?"

"How the fuck should-"

"Approximately, John..."

"I don't know. Older? Older than us. They were all posh and shit."

"Language, John. Could you see any sort of features? Hair colour? Facial hair? Insignias?"

"Fleur-de-lis..." John muttered.

"What?" Sherlock looked down "Where?"

"The... wall paper... It was rouge... had fleur-de-lis... fleur-de-lises.. es". Sherlock's mind flooded with ideas. There were too many possibilities; he needed to narrow his scope.

"Any distinguishing marks? On either man" John thought hard. His brow furrowed. He tried to think of anything. The camera was so out of focus. The only clear image was a red silk tie. He noticed something. In the background, the man who was on top, on his lower back, right above his bum, there was a darkened spot. Sherlock stared at John as he raised up a thumb and twisted it down. He pressed it into the air. Yes. It was quite like a thumb print mark.

"There was a spot. Right at the one bloke's arse crack. 'Bout the size of my thumb. Darkened. Looked like some sort of scar... bruise... maybe a-"

"Birth mark" Sherlock drew in a breath. His hairs stood on end. He felt a chill all over his body.

"John, the other man, anything, is there anything else you can tell me about him?" Sherlock's voice was shaking.

"No... he was... covered up for the most part. Why? You know who the one was? Is he important? High up?"

"He won't be anymore. Not if the video is leaked. All Mistress Adler has to do is press one little button. _Send._ And the British Government will be brought to its knees"


	6. The Distracted Detective

Sherlock held the inoculating loop over the flame of the ethanol lamp. It quickly turned red hot. Sherlock stared off into space. His mind was elsewhere. The heat travelled up the metal rod to his hand. Sherlock winced. The burn had caught him off guard. He dropped the loop. He shook his head and brought his attention back.

_The case._

He had finally received a worthwhile case and he couldn't maintain his focus. It had been a week since the video incident and there were no signs of Irene Adler. Sherlock was frustrated at how much this video had bothered him. It didn't have any consequences for him if it happened to leak out. Yet, he cared.

_Caring won't save them. This issue is not life-threatening. My focus should be on the case._

Sherlock looked toward the round bottomed culture tube on the stand. He had gone through the trouble of growing the culture, isolating it once on blood agar, and then inoculating a nutrient broth he had prepared himself. He never isolated colonies. He would normally prepare a wet mount slide and search for what he was looking for.

He wasted almost three days on a case that should have been solved by now. Instead he was showing proper lab etiquette. He was too distracted to narrow in on a bacteria of interest. A sea of micro-organisms would have overwhelmed him right now.

This video had bothered him deeply. He could do nothing about it and perhaps that is why it was so disturbing. What had Irene Adler needed so badly? Was she working for someone? What was her motive?

_The slides. Just prepare the slides._

Sherlock moved on auto-pilot. He flamed the loop, more carefully this time. He grabbed the culture tube in his left hand, gave the bottom a flick to vortex the mixture. He popped off the cap, swirled in the inoculating loop; he looked down. Blast. He forgot a slide. He placed the tube on the rack. He reached out and tried to flip open the box of glass microscope slides with his left hand. He couldn't manage.

Normally he would shout for John. He didn't want John to be around when he would finally burst and started throwing glassware. He had told John earlier to remain at Baker Street. A safe distance. The rage on lab equipment was imminent. Sometimes it was just so satisfying to throw an Erlenmeyer flask against a wall. Today he felt like he might be tossing the entire lab bench, which was bolted to the concrete. He was seething with anger.

A hand reached out and opened the box for him. Sherlock near jumped at the sight of Molly Hooper. He had forgotten she was in the lab. She had been quietly waiting in the background. She didn't even make an attempt at small talk. She could read Sherlock's emotions better than he could. She knew he was terribly distracted. Although she couldn't guess what was diverting his attention.

She was concerned he went through the trouble of isolating bacteria. Of course, in her schooling, they always preached that bacterial colonies must be isolated, sometimes several times, so that they can be properly identified. Sherlock didn't even bother with stains and dyes. He just knew at a glance the species of bacteria he had at hand. He could even identify a fungus by its hyphal structure. A breed of horse by its droppings. A chemical composition by the taste. He probably heard colours and saw sounds.

Science had never been a turn on for Molly before Sherlock. He made research look so... sexy. She looked at him with doe eyes. At first she was so attracted to his form. Elegant. High cheek bones, tall, manly, and so fit. Then his way of speaking, so deep and long drawn out. He had a gorgeous voice and an old world charm. It was as if he was born in the wrong time period. Molly on the other hand was born the wrong gender.

Why did everything she come in contact with turn to gay? She could tell Sherlock was intimate with his Dr. Watson. Of course, she only had to look to John to figure that one out. Sherlock showed indifference to the whole of the universe when he was on a case, while John drooled at his flatmate from a far. Well, I suppose it was a little less obvious. However to Molly's keen sense of anything Sherlock, John was practically climbing over the lab bench to get inside Sherlock's trousers.

She thought at first she was imagining that there was something between the two men. She dismissed it as some sort of self sabotage, an attempt to ruin her own self image. Like she needed any more help with destroying her self esteem. She could be her own worst enemy. Then Dr. Watson started subtly flirting with Sherlock. Well, not so subtly flirting.

She understood how frustrating it was to flirt with the man. He was so self-absorbed that he hardly paid attention to anyone in the lab. However, John was able to distract Sherlock if only for a second and Molly took note. She wasn't a blundering fool like some would believe. She knew when John bent over the lab bench to grab a stir bar and Sherlock's eyes darted from his microscope's eyepiece to the doctor's bum, something was going on.

Molly was getting the urge to say something to Sherlock. She had to fight back because she was aware that when she spoke to him she had a bad habit of gabbing. There was a word for it, logorrhoea, otherwise known as verbal diarrhoea.

She had an active imagination and when she spoke to Sherlock she imagined him stripping off his clothes and having her on the lab bench. When he wore a tight collared shirt she wished the buttons would just pop off. She wished so many things. She named her cat Sherlock. He didn't cuddle. He hissed at her and slept in her kitchen sink. She kept a side clear of plates, just for him. She loved that cat.

Molly couldn't hold back "Sherlock I-"

"Please." Sherlock was sincere. He hardly ever said please or thank you. This was serious. He could be in deep trouble. Was he going to die? Again?

"I just-"

Sherlock rolled his eyes.

_Here we go._

"You seem so tense. You have been on this case... and you are... using..." She couldn't form the words, she was imagining kissing his beautiful lips. She felt like she was raping him in her mind as she spoke to him. "You are wasting time" she finally sputtered out.

"What?" Sherlock looked up. He was shocked by Molly's choice of words. Her crassness.

"Something is bothering you, I can tell. You aren't behaving normal. Not that you ever behave... normal. I don't mean it like... I mean you're extraordin-" She stopped at Sherlock's face. He was starting to get seriously annoyed, and was about to turn around and keep searching for something that possibly didn't exist. "I wanted to know if I could possibly... help?" Sherlock sighed.

"You will be of no use." His thoughts were turned to the mobile again. If only he could get his hands on it. Destroy the damned thing. She would just get another, amass her collection of political pornography, and they would be at it again. He should have left her for dead.

She had fascinated him. Tickled his fancy. So he let her live. He had to track her down. Forget the case. This was becoming a major distraction. He looked into the eyepiece and prayed something would come to him instantly.

_Bacillus anthracis. Of course._

"Molly write this down, I haven't time. Anthrax. The suspected killer was a sheep farmer. Evident by the trace amount of a dog's fur on the victim's coat sleeve. He hadn't the room for a dog in his small studio flat, fifteenth floor. The dog was a herding dog, a Shetland sheepdog. It was uncertain that this particular dog had a flock or was a simple house dog, until, _Bacillus anthracis_. The suspect had contracted cutaneous anthrax via a sheep host. Either by tanning the hide or working the wool. A sore developed on the man's hand. He had a row with the victim, over his ex-wife. The details don't matter. The two were in a fist fight. The spores from the man's infected sore were inhaled by the victim. He died of fever and shock. Not from the injuries sustained in the fight. The suspect is innocent. You can tell Lestrade the search is off." Molly scrambled to write the details. Sherlock hated repeating himself. She was still writing when Sherlock went for his over-coat. He wrapped his scarf around his neck and headed for the door.

"Where you off to then?" Molly asked casually

"I have a dinner date with a dominatrix" Molly blushed from embarrassment and Sherlock turned up his coat collar and left in a sweep.


	7. On the Case

"John!"

Sherlock burst through the front door. He started searching for his flatmate. He took a quick scan of the kitchen and living area. He walked through the hall, checked the toilet, his bedroom. He returned to the stairwell.

_For what purpose would John be in his room?_

He made his way upstairs to John's door. Sherlock turned the door handle and swung the door wide open. No sign of John. He rushed downstairs. The front door showed no signs of forced entry. Then again, it wouldn't if the lock were picked. He went to the kitchen, opened the fridge. Milk. No reason for John to go to the store. Sherlock began to panic. He looked for a note, a clue, a sign, anything!

The flat, though a mess, was in order. Sherlock rushed to the desk. John's gun was in its very _clever_ ‘hiding’ spot, under the false drawer. He hadn't time to retrieve his handgun before he was...

_Kidnapped._

Sherlock began turning in place, trying to think. Observe. Then John walked through the front door, groceries in hand.

"John!" He ran to John and looked him over. "What were you thinking? Going out like that?"

"I popped out for maybe ten minutes. We needed groceries."

"We have milk!" Sherlock said exacerbated.

"Mm. Milk for dinner." John placed the groceries down.

"Eating! Always eating."

"Yeah. Sometimes I do it three times a day"

"John... don't be clever. It doesn't suit you."

"Ta!" John said smacking his lips. He picked up the bags and brought them to the kitchen. The kitchen table was out of commission from the premature ejaculation incident. So, John had to cram the groceries on the one spot of the counter top that wasn't cluttered with junk. He started to put away cans. John could almost feel the heat from Sherlock's glare. He turned around. "I don't know why my going to the store sent you into a panic." Sherlock stared at him. "Next time I'll leave a note. I thought you were going to be at Bart's for a while. You've been at the case non-stop for three days."

"It's been called off."

"What? Why?"

"The man died of natural causes."

"Oh thank God. Well... not for him I suppose." John let out a sigh of relief "I thought this whole 'Irene Adler' thing was starting to seep into your work-life as well."

"You mean to say that it is affecting other aspects of my life?" Sherlock looked royally pissed off by the acquisition.

"Look. We haven't done anything together in a week. Since this whole business with-"

"God, John. Is it always about _sex_ with you?"

"Sherlock. This has nothing to do with sex. I mean you haven't even touched me, not once, over the past few days." Sherlock walked into the kitchen and placed a hand on John's chest.

"Look, I'm touching you. Now get off it." Sherlock pulled away and turned to retreat.

"Damnit Sherlock. Every time I even come near you. You push me away. I'm sick of it. You're treating me worse than shit." John shouted to the back of Sherlock's head. Sherlock turned to face him.

"I was concerned about your safety! You could have been taken." He sneered.

"Oh right, this is about psycho-bitch."

"John, there is absolutely no reason to resort to such crudeness."

"I forgot. You fucked her. Still have feelings then?" John turned away. He had a tear forming in his eye. He didn't want Sherlock to see he had worked him up so much. "Lot of people, they've got skeletons in their closet." John turned back to Sherlock and wiped his tear away "Your skeleton is such a whore."

Sherlock bit his lower lip and held back a smile. John looked down at the floor grinning. They both started laughing. It felt good to be so immature at times. John walked over, wrapped his arms around Sherlock, and pulled him in for a hug. Sherlock accepted the embrace. John let out a sigh. Finally they were touching again.

"I'm so... distracted by the video. It has infiltrated my defences and is always in the back of my mind. Constantly nagging for my attention." He looked down at John.

_Just like you._

Sherlock was being nice enough to let some of his inside thoughts stay inside.

"You still haven't told me who was in the video." He pulled away from Sherlock and held his forearms. "Out with it. You know at least one of them."

"I do." Sherlock looked to the ceiling.

"Obviously you find it disturbing that this person was in the video. He's probably close. Even _you_ care sometimes." Sherlock let out a huff of frustration at the comment. "Who was it then?"

"I don't... wish to say..." Sherlock was holding back, not yet ready to admit who it was.

"Fine. I'll ramble off a list. You tell me if I hit my mark." Sherlock groaned. He felt a knot in his stomach. He knew a lot of people, but people that were close to him, that was a short list. John thought a moment about who Sherlock knew, who he was close to, and who he didn't want to see naked with another man. "Uh... Old boyfriend? Anderson? Eww... no... hold up." John had to shake the thought out of his head. "Someone from uni, Sebastian Wilkes? The prime minister... no wait you wouldn't recognize him. One of the princes? An ambassador? Someone from parliament? Anything? The pope! I don't fucking know! Mycroft!"

Sherlock looked down into John's eyes. John let out a gasp. "Your brother..." He said. His voice went so deep it rasped. He took his hands off Sherlock. He gasped again. "No" he said, drawing out the 'o'. "What." He stated "What? Seriously... what?" Sherlock was stiff from embarrassment. He rarely blushed, but he was so ashamed. "No wonder you're freaking. I'm freaking out! He's not even... God Sherlock, he's your brother. What?" Sherlock turned and set out for his chair.

"I know" He said as he plopped down. John nervously took his seat from across Sherlock. He leaned forward at the edge of his seat and fiddled with his hands. He was nervous. He too was now emotionally attached to the video and he was convinced he didn't even like Mycroft.

"With who?" John's leg was shaking up and down.

"I haven't the slightest idea." Sherlock bit at his thumb. He was leaned back in his chair, just as nervous as John, but not letting it show.

"Well it isn't a commoner. This is one of those... scandals. He's probably with someone high up as well." John thought a moment. "Who would want to get with…" He motioned his hands straight up and down "That."

John looked to Sherlock. Sherlock was staring at the floor. John was being rude again. He hadn't meant to of course, but sometimes he needed a filter when it came to speaking about people in front of Sherlock. Sherlock had been such a bad influence when it came to speaking one's mind, that some of it was rubbing off on John.

"We need to do a reversal and spy on Mycroft. Figure out who he's been seeing."

"What good would it do? So we'd know who the other man is. That doesn't solve our problem."

"Might help... I don't know... could give em fair warning"

"They already know what they're doing"

"Yeah, but they don't know they've been caught. Knowing your brother, he is probably taking every precaution to keep this under wraps"

"He was being careless. He deserves what he gets."

"No he doesn't, he's your brother!"

"You say that like it is something important."

"It is! If my sister, bless, was high up in the government and was caught red-handed on tape doing something scandalous, I'd be concerned." It was a poor comparison, John knew it.

"You care, far too much" Sherlock let out a sigh.

"Only to balance out your complete lack of caring at times. Look at you! You're a wreck from just the thought of this video being sent out. Don't tell me you don't care at least a tiny bit."

"This will destroy him." Sherlock sat up at the edge of his chair, he too started shaking his leg.

"Well... how could they pin it on him? The video wasn't too clear."

"You fool. She probably has ten more, in high-definition, with stage lighting. She only showed you the worst of the bunch to see if I could work this out for myself. She wants to see my mind in action. She wants..."

_What does she want?_

"John, you're right" John jumped back in shock. He was right, for once "We need to find out who the other man is. Only then will she reveal her intentions."

"Any leads?"

"None in the slightest."

"I'll get my coat." Sherlock and John smiled inappropriately at the thought of a new case.

_The Case of the Buggered Bureaucrat_


	8. A First Date

"Thus far, we’re looking for a man. Tall, bout six foot. Keeps his suit jacket undone. In central London. Yep. Should be easy. You having anything?" John looked to Sherlock who was staring out the window.

"No." They were in a coffee shop a stone skip away from King's Cross. It was quite crowded for the time of day. They had only popped in because Sherlock was becoming disheartened with the progress they were making on the case.

"Right. No coffee. Then it would be a ‘date’. Can't be having that." John smiled to himself. He was in a chipper mood given the circumstances. They were on a man-hunt. He was surging with adrenaline. This was his sort of fun. Yet Sherlock was in a depression; perhaps because so much was hinging on this case.

Maybe, he didn't want to come to a conclusion, to avoid what his future held. The Woman was toying with him. Sherlock didn't want to be at the end of her strings. Yet he would play her game and then beat her at it. First, however, he needed to find the other man.

"The red silk tie. Which man…" Sherlock let the incomplete question hang in midair. His gaze was still on the world outside the coffee shop.

"Your...” John skirted around saying the words 'Mycroft' or 'your brother'. “It didn't belong to the _other_ man."

"The supposed cane. An umbrella." Sherlock sighed. His head was slowly churning. He was not his normal self. "The fleur-de-lis wallpaper, rouge. High-rise flat, down the street. Heavily guarded. Any evidence has been cleared." Sherlock sighed again. He had never been at such a low before, especially on a case. His brother covered his tracks well. The video taunted him. He needed more data, another piece of evidence. Sherlock looked to his phone.

_A hint. It is all I need._

He wasn't going to receive any help from Irene Adler. He was on his own, with John.

"No need to be cryptic. Say Mycroft. I don't care." Sherlock said letting out another heavy sigh. He was being dramatic, but he did have somewhat of a good reason. John decided the only way they could get this case rolling was to cheer Sherlock up somehow. John thought back to the video. If he came up with a lead... my God, Sherlock would just have to have him right there. John tried out his meagre mind palace once more.

The video. He must try and remember something else without accidentally making something up that didn't actually happen. What was he sure of? Other man. Shorter, a little on the tan side. Definitely older. No ring on his finger. Had there been a ring there?

John shut his eyes and focused. Was his mind making something up? That would be terrible; he would be sending them on the wrong trail. A red herring. He thought he saw a tan line, where a ring would go. Oh how would he know? He was drugged at the time! There was probably no video in the first place. God, he just wanted Sherlock to cheer up.

"I might have seen a tan line. You know, from a wedding band."

Sherlock looked over. "Divorced? He wouldn't take off his ring to have relations with a man if he was still with his wife. Hm. Good, John."

"Now, I said might. I don't want to-"

"I trust you, John. You wouldn't likely make it up." Sherlock _trusted_ John. John's heart fluttered. He smiled uncontrollably. He blushed slightly. This did feel like a date. Their first. It was unconventional, but still kind of endearing, in a way. John didn't want a public display of affection sort of date anyhow. He liked their secret outings. People still thought they were dating anyhow, but at least they weren't dry humping and molesting each other in public.

John went back to thinking. He couldn't contain his smile. What else could there be? The video was maybe thirty seconds in length; there wasn't much to look at. Sherlock knew the location so the furnishings weren't very useful. Why couldn't he remember more about the other man? Hair? Did he have hair? Perhaps he did. John didn't notice before. He wished he could have given the video a second look. No, he wished Sherlock could give it a look. Then he would be off the hook. It was John's fault if the case remained unsolved. This was too much pressure for John. His smile faded.

"Recently divorced. Secretly homosexual. Very secretly. Maybe his outward appearance would suggest his inner turmoil. Tan. Do you remember anything about the underwear?"

"Just Mycroft's... red... like the tie." John had his eyes shut and was replaying the scene over and over again in his mind. This was odd, imagining Sherlock's brother in a compromising position, on replay. After so many playbacks he started filling in his face. His own mind was able to turn the camera and see the scene at a different angle. The only part he couldn't see was the other man's face. He pressed his mental rewind. Went back to when the men first entered the scene. Their torsos. The other man wore a two piece suit, black trousers, a white collared shirt, and a black suit jacket. His jacket. When he was placing things down, there was a glance of something inside his jacket.

"A holster! A gun holster! On the man's shoulder. That's why his coat bottom wasn’t buttoned. He had a gun!" John shouted. He immediately regretted shouting ‘gun’ multiple times in a crowded coffee shop.

"Recently divorced with a shoulder holster. John!" Sherlock came to a startling realization.

"Lestrade!" John mentally filled in the faces. They fit. He was so pleased and disgusted with himself at the same time. John and Sherlock jumped out of their chairs at the same time. "We must-" John was cut off mid-sentence. Sherlock had grabbed John's face and smashed their lips together. He pulled away quickly.

"John, you're brilliant." The whole cafe had looked over at the commotion. Sherlock made his way out of the coffee shop before John had the chance to compose himself. He stood a moment and saw Sherlock outside, already hailing a cab. The coffee shop's patrons were all staring at John, who had turned a bright crimson. He turned sharply on his toes and made a hasty retreat.

"Sherlock wait up!" He shouted as Sherlock slipped into a taxi. John dove in and slammed the door. John slid in next to Sherlock and sat knee to knee. Both men were grinning.

_The Detective Inspector and the British Government._


	9. Ice Cold

Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade looked quite unlike himself in the back seat of the car. He kept shutting his eyes, tilting his head back, and then snapping awake. He blinked, heavily lidded. He was alone, for now. He thought if he could just shut his eyes for a moment, he would be fine. He leaned his head against the door, let his eyes close slowly, and instantly began snoring.

He hadn't the time for a proper shave and was looking quite scruffy. His fingers were nicotine stained, he had given up on quitting completely, and he was up to a pack a day. His fingernails had been bit down to the nubs, it was a terrible habit. He was surviving off of caffeine, refined sugar, and nicotine. He was high strung and not because of the finalizing of his divorce. He was far more concerned with the affair he was having off on the side.

Cases had been piling up, which was common with the changing of seasons, people started dying left and right when the weather cooled and the holidays loomed. The paper-work was atrocious and tedious. His eyes burned and felt like they were going to melt out of his head if he read the computer screen another minute. Then the black car showed up, to whisk him away. He called it a booty call, the other man called it business.

He was torn with how he felt about life. He was becoming quite desensitized to every form of stimulus. Every form except sexual stimulus. He would enter the room-of-the-week, there would be an arm chair propped up in the corner, he'd remove his belt, walk over to the chair, grip the back, and shut his eyes until it was all over. Then he'd smile to himself, turn around, and get his.

Lestrade smiled in his sleep at the thought, the corner of his mouth twitched. The car came to a stop. Lestrade's eyes shot open. His head nodded forward. The door opened. The driver held the door and Lestrade tumbled out of the car and looked half-drunk as he walked into the brick building. The surroundings were a blur as he was guided to the office door. The driver announced Gregory's presence.

"He may enter." Lestrade heard from the back of the office. Greg took a deep breath, tried to get his adrenaline pumping so he didn't pass out the minute he entered the door. Mycroft sat across the way, intently reading some files. "Have a seat." Mycroft didn't bother looking up, he kept his eyes locked on the photos and documents in his hands. Lestrade glanced over to the corner. An arm chair sat waiting. His eyes started to become heavy once more. He willed himself awake.

He tried his best to smoothly walk over to the arm chair. He stumbled a bit and plopped down. He hadn't yet actually sat in one of the arm chairs on which they conducted their business. It was quite comfy. The fabric was so... Lestrade jerked awake. He hadn't even realized he had dozed off. He looked down at his wrist-watch. He'd been out of the office for an hour already. "Sh-" he stopped mid-word and thought of Mycroft in the room. _Shit!_

"You are dismissed" Mycroft said coldly from his office chair.

"I... I just nodded off. I'm ready now" Greg hopped up and turned to clutch the back of the chair.

"Your services are not required today, thank you" Mycroft pointed to the door with his pen.

"My... services? I... I'm fine... fine now. Just a bit of fatigue. Fine now. Refreshed." He actually felt much better after the short cat nap.

"You are dismissed."

Lestrade's mouth hung open. He let go of the chair's back. Sat down and buried his face in his hands.

"I've been lookin' forward to this all week. It... it's all I have to look forward to. Can't we just?"

"The feeling has passed. Our time is up; you will be expected back at Scotland Yard shortly. I suggest you pull yourself together."

"I was just tired. I'm sorry. It won't happen again. Please." Mycroft didn't respond; his eyes were still on the case files. Scanning. Deaf to Greg's pleas. "Fine." Lestrade stood and walked over to the desk. He stood opposite of Mycroft. He placed his hands on the desk and leaned in. "If you're not having yours, at least give me mine." He stared directly at Mycroft. Mycroft didn't bother glancing up. "You know what? Don't look up. I'll have my way with you for once. You can just read your God damned files while I fuck the hell out of you. Oh, the things I could do to you... all the hell you've put me through. Week after week I've been taking it up the arse, and for what? Just so you can suck my dick?" Lestrade was breathing hard, he was steaming with anger. "You posh bitch. I'd just love to fuck the snide look off your face."

Lestrade fell backwards on to his knees; he gripped on to the desk, and rubbed his forehead against his hands. "God what am I saying? Please... just have me. I'm sorry. Please forgive me. I don't even want mine. Just... I just want to feel something. I'm so numb. I can't feel anything any more. This whole affair has been just fu-screwing with my head. I can't eat, I can't sleep. I need something. Anything." Lestrade looked up. Mycroft's expression was emotionless; he even let out a small yawn. Lestrade held on tight and pulled himself up, his knees were shaking. He was exhausted physically, emotionally.

"Please. Just look at me. I'm begging. You never look at me. Before, during, after. I just want... I want..." He gripped the desk as he moved to face Mycroft. He stopped at Mycroft's side. He clutched the side of Mycroft's chair and dropped to his knees once more. "I just want to... be held. Kissed. Anything. I'm going mad with this arrangement. God why won't you look at me?" He dropped his head on to the arm rest of the chair. He began to sob quietly.

He raised his head and looked up at Mycroft. He was stoic; completely indifferent to the grown man weeping next to him. Greg stood up. He lunged at Mycroft, grabbing him by his blazer and held him tight. His hands were shaking "Why won't you look at me?" he shouted. Mycroft's eyes finally met Lestrade's. Lestrade fell once more to his knees still gripping Mycroft's suit jacket. "God... I could make you... so... happy. If you would just... just let me... let me." Lestrade sputtered and started crying heavily. He let out heavy laboured breaths and rocked back and forth on his knees, holding on to Mycroft for dear life. "Why? Oh God. Why?" He let go and held his head. He fell to the floor, tears streaming down his face, he moaned in agony.

Mycroft straightened his suit jacket. Placed his hands on his desk and stood. He brushed himself off, checked his pocket watch and glanced down at the Detective Inspector. He let out a small sigh.

"Gregory, I fear that our little arrangement has become too much for you to manage. You have become far too attached, emotionally, and therefore, your services are no longer required." Mycroft walked curtly past the man crying on his carpet. He grabbed his umbrella at the door, placed it on his forearm and went to make his leave. "Good day, Detective Inspector."

_The Iceman_

All of Lestrade's past hit him at once as he lay on the floor. His wife leaving, finding out she was with his daughter's PE teacher, losing the custody hearing, his own parent's divorce, losing both his parents, his childhood dog, his first goldfish. Nothing, compared to the pain he felt for becoming so emotionally attached to a man who was made of ice. He cried until the tears ran dry. Until he passed out from exhaustion on the office floor.

He woke some time later, in his own bed, in his dingy two bedroom flat. His eyes were stinging and he was unsure of his surroundings. It took a moment to figure out where he was. He had no idea how he got there. All he remembered was breaking down completely and passing out in Mycroft's office. Lestrade felt strange inside. He had experienced an intense release. He had pent-up all his emotions for his entire life and they were now just coming out. All at once.

For once, he felt relief. He was near happy. Laying everything out on the table had felt good. Usually after seeing Mycroft Holmes he felt filthy, used, yet he always wanted more. He didn't realize he had wanted so much more. How alone he had felt. Now that he had admitted it, he felt good inside. It wouldn't last, the crushing realization of what his actions had caused would hit him soon enough. For now though, Greg could close his eyes and sleep. Blissfully.


	10. Mice in the Wall

John had never been so proud of himself. He was rather smug after his excellent deduction. He was convinced this is how Sherlock must feel when he makes a discovery and solves a major case. No wonder Sherlock walked around like such a pompous dick all the time.

John, a proper genius. Sherlock his dubious blogger. John, the gorgeous super sleuth. Sorry ladies, taken! Oh don't go crying now. _I know, I know, I am pretty awesome. Save your tears for your pillowcase._ John was absorbed in his fantasy world while Sherlock was giving him the strangest look.

It was an odd mix between confusion and disgust.

"My brother is sleeping with Scotland Yard’s head Detective Inspector... and you're? What are you doing?"

"I'm being knighted for my outstanding work in the field." John was kneeling on the kitchen floor. _Sir John Watson. That does have a good ring to it. Why would Sherlock refuse such a coveted title? I'd be up there with Sir Elton John... She just gives away titles... I still want one..._

"God, what goes on in your funny little head?" Sherlock looked down at the morning's newspaper and chuckled to himself. "You aid in solving _one_ case and your head explodes from pride."

"Aid? I solved it all by myself. No thanks to you!" John stood and walked over to Sherlock's chair. "I'm clever!" John said yanking the newspaper out of Sherlock's hands. He rolled it up and held it behind his back. "Unh, now I need another case. So bored! I'm going to have to start destroying everything you hold dear in my conquest for something _interesting_." He held his hands behind his back and strolled across the living space. Pacing in pretend boredom. "By God, Sherlock! Why do you have to be so dull? With your simple mind and broad interests."

"John, I do believe your ego has become far too massive for this room to hold. Your head is swollen and grotesquely deformed from a false sense of achievement."

"Shut up! I'm in my _mind palace_ " Sherlock rolled his eyes "Ah! Of course! He died from being punched in the face! With Anthrax! I'm brilliant! I must fetch my overcoat so I can turn up my collar and look all mysterious and sexy as I make my leave." Sherlock snorted at John's impression. John dropped the newspaper on to the side table.

"Right, you're no better. What with your jumpers and tea-cups."

"What's wrong with my jumpers then?"

"You look like you dress in your gran's closet with the lights out."

"You seem to have me mistaken with Molly Hooper." They both burst out into laughter "Oh, that's terrible. I'm so sorry, she tries." John couldn't help but laugh. Sherlock sighed.

_She does. In vain, but she does try._

"Perhaps people would take you seriously if you looked less like you hugged kittens for a living."

"You think there's any money in that?" They both laughed again.

"We're not getting a cat. Not a dog either. I mean it."

"Aw, where did that come from? Why not?"

"They die."

"Erm... yeah so does everything else."

"You would become attached and then it would die."

"Not for near ten or more years!"

"I'm avoiding the inevitable. You would be a mess."

"Now I want a dog, just because you say I can't have one."

"Of course you do. You are so contradicting." Sherlock laughed to himself "I bet you're still not gay either."

"I'm most certainly not!"

"What?" Sherlock gave him a look of amusement.

"I don't like men." John walked over to face Sherlock. They held each other's gaze.

"You only like one, _man._ " Sherlock responded. John leaned toward Sherlock, their lips near touched. It felt as though there was a rapid exchange of electrons between them, making their lips buzz.

The door swung open. "Not gay then? Well, well. You two had me fooled!" Irene Adler waltzed in. She wore a form fitted ivory white dress with matching silk gloves. She pulled her gloves off as she entered. She wasn't wearing any shoes so she was able to walk the steps without being detected.

She memorized which steps creaked and where she must step to avoid making any sort of noise. She was becoming more clever as time wore on. "Then again, I wouldn’t suppose they would call you a homosexual. Only attracted to Sherlock Holmes. A holmo-sexual then." She placed her gloves on John's side table. "I guess we're a lot alike then doctor. I quite fancy the man myself." John clenched his jaw. He pulled away from Sherlock and stared directly into Adler's gaze. He crossed his arms and held them tight to his chest.

"I hear you found the other man. Good work Dr Watson. You must be so proud of your John, Sherlock." Sherlock looked away. He tapped at the air, pining for his violin. Anything to ease this awkward get together. "Have you come up with my motivation as well? Or does it still elude you?" She stood up and walked toward the seated consulting detective. She gave him a head to toe look over and smiled. Then she leaned in toward Sherlock, her lips at his ear. "Here's a hint." She leaned in ever closer and gave a small nibble on his earlobe.

John snapped, reached out, and grabbed her by the wrist and twisted; pulling her away from Sherlock. "I... I will break you... I have no reservations about dislocating your shoulder."

"So rough. Just how I like it.” She hummed with content. “ _So_ forceful" John let go of her arm. He wasn't about to have her get off on him snapping her like a twig. She was a sick woman. John looked down at Sherlock. Sherlock kept his focus anywhere but on the two people in front of him.

"Anything to say? Anything at all?" John asked incredulously. "How can you be so... Sherlock, I need you here." Sherlock looked to John. John let out a sigh. "What's going on here? I really would like to know."

"Well then doctor. There's no need to be shy. I'm just trying to be part of this love affair. Make it a little m _énage à trois"_ The Woman practically purred at the words.

"Um... no... no thank you. I am not about to have a three-way. When... this whole relationship is hardly a two-way the majority of the time."

Irene Adler smiled."About to? Then it isn't entirely out of the question?"

"Oh no, hear me. It is entirely out of the question. Not you, not anyone." John looked to Sherlock. _Isn't that right Sherlock? Please, tell me I'm right. Sherlock? Sherlock!_

"She's not here for sex. It is something else." Sherlock said coldly. Irene Adler's smile faded. She looked toward Sherlock. John let out a heavy sigh of relief. "For what, I am still not certain."

"Well then, may I stay?" She asked smirking. "Just the night, until I get on my feet. You can do with me what you like. I won't mind."

"You can have John's room, the one up the stairs."

"Sher-Sherlock? Aren't we going to discuss this? You know?" John pleaded.

"There's no need for discussion." Sherlock sighed.

"I'm not... I'm not having some sleep-over with a woman... THE woman..."

"Oh why not John? It will be like old times. Before you were exclusively intimate with a man." Irene said coyly.

"Um... maybe because you have a bad habit of drugging your friends and having your way with them while they sleep. Sorry if I have some reservations about having you anywhere near me while my guard is down."

"You would dislocate my shoulder without a second thought, but the thought of sleeping with a woman disgusts you."

"No... you don't 'sleep' with people. You beat them into submission with a riding crop while they're chained to a bed post. Yeah, so sorry. I'm not having a slumber party with a psychotic dominatrix."

"Psychotic is in the job description, my dearest John."

"Stop" Sherlock put up a hand. "She is staying the night. One night. Then tomorrow she will be gone."

"But-" John sputtered. What was Sherlock's thinking with this one? There were no grounds to trust this woman. At least none that John were aware of. "Fine. You two do what you will. I'll sleep in my bed."

"John. Your night terrors. You can't sleep at the top of those steps. Last time-"

"Don't care. So I'll break a leg, maybe smash open my head. It is better than staying here with you two." John turned, went for the door, grabbed his coat, and slammed the door behind him.

"Look at him, all out of sorts." Irene Adler said, staring outside the window. "Pity. He would have been fun between the sheets. He's probably very _caring._ "

"Stop" Sherlock looked toward the floor. "Give John the decency. Don't talk about him while his back is turned."

"You've got yourself a little pressure point." Adler glided along the floor to John's chair. She took her seat. "Hm. John's chair. Set right across from yours, like you two are equal. When that is far from the truth. Sherlock, you deserve so much-"

"Enough. I'm aware of your game. I don't want to play along." Sherlock went to stand.

"Have you spoken with your brother? Did he tell you?" Sherlock sat back down, he looked at her questioning, trying to read her gaze. "Him and the other man, they're no longer. He broke the affair off himself."

"I didn't speak with him about the video… he wasn't aware."

"Hm. Well." Adler thought to herself. "I wonder what could have come between them."

Sherlock looked at her intently.

_What is her game? I thought I knew. Her motives are so unclear. Everyone has a motive, no matter how cryptic._

"You're right. I'm not here for pleasure, this is strictly business. Though your brother has ended his relationship with Mr Lestrade. I still have quite a lot of pictures, videos, audio clips, all that could be used as evidence."

"Evidence... Of what?" Sherlock was truly unsure of what she meant.

"He's slipping Sherlock. Making mistakes. Exposing himself." Irene Adler smiled. "The iceman is starting to melt."

"What is your interest in Mycroft?"

"He has things. I like things. Especially things I need."

"Money? Power? Security?" Sherlock questioned.

"Things, Sherlock."

Sherlock looked directly into her eyes. He was becoming frustrated. He stared longer, trying to draw out some kind of hint.

"Who do you work for?"

Adler grinned "Myself."

John swung open the door. "Right, out of my chair then. Sherlock. A word."

"John what-" Sherlock began to ask.

"Out. Get out. Go!" John was trying to pull Adler out of his chair without touching her. "Shoo. Out of earshot."

"I'd rather like to stay, this sounds interesting." Adler stayed seated.

"It is none of your concern." John sneered. "Men are speaking, away with you _Woman_!"

"No wonder you couldn't keep a girlfriend." Adler laughed.

"Yeah, back to the kitchen from whence you came, I get it I'm a male chauvinist pig. Leave!"

"John, she obviously isn’t moving. What is it?"

"I don't want to say it now." John crossed his arms. Sherlock rolled his eyes. "All right, fine. I got word from Sally Donovan-"

"Oh my God! Since when do you talk to _her_?" Sherlock asked in disgust.

"She sent me a text! Saying Lestrade hasn't been in for two days. Says he's been held up in his flat. They sent someone over. He was a wreck, crying, not speaking coherently. Drinking. Like really drinking. More than my sister drinking."

"Enough with the gossip, John. I know. Mycroft broke it off."

"He's really a mess."

"Hm." Sherlock thought to himself "So that is why he ended it." Irene Adler sat up with excitement. A deduction, so thrilling. "It was becoming too much for our Detective Inspector, he was becoming attached. Mycroft panicked. You're right Miss Adler. It appears my brother is starting to slip." Sherlock looked directly at her. "Now, what is your _game_?" he sneered.

"Snakes and ladders." She smiled. "I'm pressing my luck. Trying to make it to the top, while others fall." She turned and looked at John. "So far it is going swimmingly."

"You want Mycroft to spiral out of control... while you stand and watch. Why? What has he ever done to you?" John asked, his brows furrowed.

"Oh, doctor. We have our history. It isn't just Mycroft Holmes I'm interested in. I have a broader set of interests." She looked towards Sherlock. "Isn't that right?"

_Woman, what do you want from me?_

"Well, keep your hands off my interests." John said shortly.

"Oh, I'll keep my hands off. But you would be surprised at how well I can use my other parts."

"Hands, tongues, crotches, you know what I meant."

"You are no fun, no wonder Sherlock gets so bored with you" Adler jabbed. Her comment cut John deep.

"For the last time. _This_..." He said pointing to the three of them "Isn't happening."

Adler pouted. "Anti romantic." John's eyes went wide. How long had she been keeping surveillance on them? What had she heard? Seen?

"My... God... Sherlock. A word." Sherlock looked away. Was he embarrassed?

"Yes, John Watson. Like Sherlock's brother, I have quite the pile of evidence of a certain affair. An affair that a certain consulting detective is having with his blogger. Piles of evidence."

The room fell silent. Sherlock went away in his mind and withdrew from the situation. Typical. Emotionally distant when John needed him the most. What was the use? She had them. Or did she?

"Don't care." John said plainly

"What?" She smiled, but her grin bore the slightest hint of concern.

"Don't care. People already think we're at it. Just confirms their suspicions. Go ahead. Do what you will."

"John." Sherlock said.

"No, seriously. What could be that bad? So everyone was right, we'd just have to suck up our pride. Maybe it'd get the fan-girls off our-"

"John!" Sherlock shouted.

"What?" John looked into Sherlock's worried eyes.

"Our... second attempt"

"Oh... Oh. Oh fuck... Yeah..." John thought a moment "Yeah... but really. How much trouble can you get in for-"

"A lot..." Sherlock let the words hang in the air. The room was getting quite warm with discomfort.

"Well... Right... I'm beat. Bed then?" John clapped his hands together. "Not you" He said pointing to Adler who was smiling haughtily.

_Know when you're beat._

"How about some dinner first?" Adler suggested.

"Not hungry." Sherlock lifted his eyebrow.

"Exactly."

"I'm off to bed." He said following John into his bedroom.

"You're not tired."

"Exactly." Sherlock smirked, closing his bedroom door behind him.

John sat on the bed and let out a breath.

"We really should take my room. I have a proper door lock."

"What is the use? She would make her way in with her lock pick."

"Give us time to... I don't know… Why is she here, Sherlock? Really?"

"As I stated before, I'm uncertain. Every time I get anywhere with her I'm blown off course."

"Get... any where... right." John sighed. He lay back on the bed and put his hands to his face. "God Sherlock, just tell me. Did you have sex with her?"

"That is between Miss Adler and me."

"No... no it's not. You sleep with everyone your partner sleeps with. I'd like to know."

"Well then... That _is_ concerning. That means I've been with that doctor, the boring teacher, the nose, the spots-"

"Enough. You are avoiding my question. Fine then. Til you give me a straight answer, I'm withholding myself." John curled up into a ball to demonstrate his point.

"Hm" Sherlock hummed to himself. They hadn't been intimate in quite some time. Over a week? That would never do. "Come now, John. You never withhold yourself from me. I always get what I want in the end."

"Yeah, if that isn't the truth. Bravo Sherlock, you've finally solved the case. You are a spoiled little brat." Sherlock crawled on to the bed and cradled his blogger.

Spooning. This was new. Sure they had had loads of cuddles. John, however, had to be the aggressor in the cuddle attacks. This was much better. John found it so difficult to hold Sherlock and it felt so natural the other way around. John let out a sigh of relief.

"That bitch is going to come in here with bindings and a bull whip right when we're finally having a proper cuddle." John grumped. Sherlock held him closer. John felt safe in Sherlock's arms. This was something very lovely.

John felt something in his backside as Sherlock rotated his hips. "God, Sherlock. At a time like this? She's in the other room! Probably listening at the door."

"We could do it quietly. Like two mice having at it in the walls. Not a soul could hear."

"Yeah, right. You're the louder of the two of us."

"Cups?" Sherlock smiled. He kept grinding himself into John's backside; hoping to pique his interest. John was surely interested; a fire was growing in his pelvic region. However he couldn't get the Woman in the other room out of his mind.

"She'll walk in on us."

Sherlock began kissing the back of John's neck. "We'll just be giving her more evidence."

"Evidence of what?"

"That we are incredibly naughty" The way Sherlock said naughty was so... well, _naughty._ He was being playful. John couldn't help but play as well. Playful Sherlock was a much better turn-on than pent-up rage/sexually frustrated Sherlock. Though both had their perks. Sherlock reached around to grab at John's healthy erection. John jumped.

"Right, between the sheets then. If I'm going to be caught, I don't want to be all out in the open."

_Sex? Between the sheets? This will never do._

"How do we go about it... under a bunch of covers? Wouldn't that just extend the duration of intercourse?"

"It isn't a race Sherlock."

"Oh... I thought it was..." John laughed at how truly naive Sherlock could be. He just wanted to get rid of an erection the second he got it. They were so distracting. He didn't like to get them often, unless he could get rid of them. More like, unless John could get rid of them. Extended sexual intercourse, Sherlock gave it a second thought.

_Maybe. Just once. Experiment with it. Come to my own conclusions. Given that I do indeed... come. Unlikely._

Sherlock let go of John and nodded his approval. They both crawled out of bed, on opposite sides, and pulled back the covers. John began un-buttoning his shirt. Sherlock looked at him as he undressed. John stopped at the third button and looked to Sherlock. Sherlock began taking off his own shirt. John smiled. Finally, a bare-chested brawl.

Sherlock was quick to take off his trousers and underwear, he dove under the sheets. John laughed as Sherlock watched him take off his own trousers. Sherlock propped his head up on one arm and grinned.

"Thought you didn't like a strip tease?" John asked.

"I thought I didn't like oral sex either. You’ve persuaded me. You should join the UN. You are very _persuasive_."

"Yeah, and you're very pervy." John laughed. "Look away, I'm absolutely hideous. You say so yourself."

"No! Never." Sherlock scoffed at the idea. John raised an eyebrow as if to say _'oh really?'_ "Right... I suppose you're fishing for compliments. Hm." Sherlock looked him over. "You're small, compact, good weight for your size, loyal, and have nice teeth given your age."

"What am I then? A poodle?"

"I said loyal. Poodles are rotten beasts. Bite the hand that feeds them."

"Loyal isn't even a physical description." John sighed. His hands hovered at his trousers' fastener. "You know, I feel like I'm just your shadow sometimes."

"Nonsense John!" Sherlock laughed to himself "My shadow would be much taller." John looked away trying to conceal his smile. "Fine... what would you be then? Cute?"

John put his hands down to his sides, tilted his head to one side and furrowed his brow.

"Cute? Really, Sherlock?"

Sherlock looked at him with concern. "Sure. You match the description. Attractive in a sort of endearing way, dainty. Yes, cute would be the word."

"Dainty?"

"Yes... quite like a small dog."

"A miniature poodle then. Right."

"A _loyal_ miniature poodle." Sherlock corrected.

"I'm not some lace doily or curly haired puppy. I was a soldier, I did kill people."

"On accident, I'm assured."

"I've killed for you!"

"Exactly, loyal! Come now, I'm getting a chill, join me." Sherlock patted the bed side.

"I'm not your dog."

"I'm not your bitch either. What are we at then? I lost score."

"There is no score."

"Love: Love then?"

John gave him a half lidded stare.

"Really? You're going to be cute now? I thought that was my niche."

Sherlock gave John a smug look. "What am I then? You think I'm pretty?"

"Pretty obnoxious."

"No, do tell me, John. What do you think of me?"

"Physically? Or personality wise, because let me tell you-"

"Physically of course. Go on. Tell me."

"Um... you're beautiful?" John questioned.

"Hm. How so?" Sherlock gave him a look of intent.

"Well... it's different for everyone I suppose. People point out your mysterious appearance, high cheek bones, deep voice, piercing blue/green eyes. I don't have any inclination toward any of those traits. The parts don't equal the whole. You're just... I don't know... beautiful. All around."

"Hm." Sherlock pursed his lips at the thought.

"You also look pretty damned hot when you're sucking my-"

"Oi then." Sherlock tossed a pillow at John's face. "Don't need to go ruining this lovely moment. I'm getting a cavity from the utterly sickening sweetness of it all."

"Think I have diabetes from it." John laughed. His attention returned to his trousers. He slid them down slowly, leaving his underwear on. He slid into the bed, under the sheets, and pulled them off there.

"I've seen you, on several occasions, why so shy?"

"I want to know where my underwear is when the mistress makes her rounds. I don't want to be completely exposed." They lay face to face looking into each other's eyes. No one, not even Sherlock, could have predicted how intimately close these men would become in such a short time. "Right then, absolutely quiet. Don't want to alert the guard."

"John Watson, I will make you scream my name over and over."

"I'm going to beat you in a moment."

"So rough. I've grown tired of rough. I want something soft." Sherlock swept a hand down John's cheek.

"You are being disgustingly lovey."

"I'll go right back to bending you over and pounding into you in the morning."

"Promise?"

"Well... unless this whole experience proves to be worthwhile. I can't make any promises."

"Is the thought of being caught turning you on as much as it is me?" John asked.

"Mm. Danger. I live for it." Sherlock drew John into a kiss. John placed his hands on Sherlock's ass and pulled him close. They were already so hard. They both reached out for one another's cocks and began stroking. They tried to keep the noise to a minimum. Holding back their moans. Sherlock let out a small squeak. John let out a small laugh, breaking the kiss.

"Like two mice in the walls." Sherlock directed John's attention back to the heavy petting. He locked lips once more, drawing in John's tongue. He let a moan escape.

_Damn. How do I keep from making so much noise? I have no control at John's hand. Lestrade was right, John is my handler._

Sherlock shook off the thought of Lestrade and returned his focus to John. He let go and grabbed the sides of John's face and passionately started exploring the doctor's mouth with his tongue. John grabbed Sherlock's hips and ground himself into the detective's erection. They slid together as Sherlock made it hard to breathe. He let go and both men gasped for air.

Sherlock looked into John's eyes. Sherlock's eyes were glazed over in lust. He didn't take the time or thought to get any sort of positioning right. He tried to find the quickest way of entrance.

"Oh fuck... John, lubricant" Sherlock felt his sexual frustration coming back.

"Fine, hold on." John slid completely under the sheets and brought his face near Sherlock's cock.

"Oh.. right... saliva then that would-" John buried his mouth on to Sherlock's cock, causing Sherlock to bring a hand to his mouth and clamp down to keep from screaming out obscenities. John withdrew quickly to save Sherlock the agony of coming prematurely. They relaxed a moment, letting the heat of the moment cool a bit before engaging in Sherlock's favourite activity. Now Sherlock began to wonder.

_How? I'll take anything at the moment._

John rolled on to his stomach.

_Like that then, perfect. The downward dog, how fitting._

Sherlock brought himself on top of the doctor. Not the best position for penetration, but this would make the experience much more affectionate. Sherlock pressed against John's entrance. John was much more relaxed than usual, which was helpful without adequate lubricant at hand. Sherlock pressed in slowly, he placed his hands on both sides of the bed near John's torso. He waited a moment to bring himself in fully. John wrapped his arms around a pillow and held it close as Sherlock slid in his entire length. Sherlock brought himself down and held his doctor close. He lay on his stomach on John's back, rising with John's every breath. He pressed up only slightly so all of his weight wasn’t on the smaller man.

Sherlock laid a kiss on the back of John's neck. He began to move slowly. The sheets had slid off and he made a small attempt to cover them up. He didn't want a soul to share in this intimate moment. Unlike in the past, these slow deliberate movements weren't agonizing slow. Sherlock felt as though time stood still and for once he wasn't bored with the pace of the universe.

He pressed up on his hands and started moving his hips, fluidly, and John felt himself being pressed against the mattress. His cock was straining against the sheets. Sherlock bit his bottom lip and looked to the ceiling trying to keep his moans of pleasure inside, the occasional small throaty grunt was the only thing he'd let escape. His hips started to move on their own accord, much faster than he’d intended as the heat started to rise in his lower abdomen. He had to hold himself back.

John bit into the pillow. This was a huge tease for him, being ground into the bedding. Then the cessation of the motion was painful. John moaned into the pillow and buried his face. His knuckles were turning white. Sherlock sensed John's pain and lay down once more to hold him. His hips made small movements as he willed John to release his grip on the pillow. John began to relax being held so close. His cock ached for release but he felt so comfortable in Sherlock's hold he had forgotten about how much it was straining.

Sherlock gave John's bad shoulder a kiss. John smiled lightly. Sherlock pressed up once more. He was aching for release as he started his final descent. He started to thrust. John lifted his hips and drew up on to his knees. Sherlock grabbed at John's hips and got a good hold. He couldn't hold back a low groan as he started his hard forward strokes. John's head started smacking into the headboard with each thrust. Sherlock gave a small laugh. He scooted backwards and moved John's head away from the top of the bed.

He gave up on trying to cover them up with the sheets. Sherlock reached out and grabbed John's shaft and began to stroke. John tried to stifle his moans, now he was the one letting out high-pitched squeaks. Sherlock began to coordinate a thrust and stroke regiment. It was a bit more awkward than he had imagined. It was difficult to bend over, thrust, have pleasure course through your veins; then get your hand to cooperate when all your blood has left your brain. The tactic was proving effective, never mind the inconsistencies in the thrusting and pumping. In fact it made it less predictable for John, making it much more shocking and pleasurable.

Sherlock was so close, it pained him to withhold, but John hadn't yet achieved an orgasm and he wanted to wait. He knew if he came first he'd become a mess and they would have a repeat of Sherlock's first attempt.

He would not have that. He was determined. He gave up his own pursuit and turned his focus to getting John to come in his hand. He jerked his hand as fast as he could possibly manage, John buried his head into his arms, he couldn't hold back from moaning. He was so very close. Sherlock felt himself becoming incredibly aroused by this and was starting to feel himself getting there as well.

Sherlock tried once more to thrust while maintaining his rapid pace on John's cock. John began clenching the pillow once more.

"Unh" Sherlock groaned. His eyes were becoming so glazed with lust it was hard to see. The fire in his stomach was rising fast, he couldn't hold back. His leg jerked and his muscles twitched as he came violently. His hand stopped. Sherlock cut himself short; he focused with all his strength to make the motor movements to get John to join him. Finally the doctor released. John collapsed forward on to his stomach and Sherlock followed, falling heavily on John's back.

They were both a sweaty mess. John's belly was rubbing against his own mess. John's mouth had gone dry and he was trying to wet his mouth with saliva. He was feeling quite gross, satisfied, but a mess. Sherlock on the other hand had left this world in complete release. He was utterly satisfied and ready for a hundred year's rest. He wrapped his arms around John and relaxed into a zen state.

John on the other hand was starting to feel his come dry on his stomach and his cotton mouth was really bothering him. He also needed to pee. Bad.

"Unh." He groaned. He didn't want to leave Sherlock's hold but he couldn't possibly sleep like this. "Shower?" He suggested. Sherlock started groaning in detest. He wanted to lie exactly as he was. He had fulfilled John's needs for the night. Back to selfish. "Come on. Shower with me. We need to change the sheets." Sherlock opened one eye to look at him.

"You have to urinate. Again..." Sherlock huffed. John let out a final groan as Sherlock slid out and released him completely. "I would propose your prostate was acting up, but it felt fine to me." John pushed Sherlock's face away with his hand.

"You git. Come on, shower." John pressed up on his hands and looked down at the sweaty ejaculatory mess he had made. He grimaced in disgust. "Yeah, I'm not sleeping in that."

"What about Mistress Adler?"

"Don't suppose... she'd like sleeping in it either. Then again-"

"I mean, how are we going to sneak past her and have a shower?"

"Oh shit. I forgot about her... Hm. You think she heard?"

"Without a shadow of a doubt. You are incredibly loud."

"You weren't exactly quiet either."

"Squeak" Sherlock imitated.

"Yeah, you were the one squeaking." John gave him a play punch in the arm. "Come on I'm repulsive, I need to get cleaned off."

"Should we bother covering up? She has probably seen every angle of our anatomy." Sherlock sighed.

"Yes. I won't let her eye-fuck you."

"So territorial."

"Loyal and protective." John said proudly.

"Like a nippy lap dog." Sherlock dodged a smack upside the head as he laughed. Sherlock quickly threw the sheet over John's body as Irene Adler turned the door's handle and burst in un-announced. Sherlock sat exposed. John was pressed against the nasty sweat spot once more. "What... is it?" Sherlock asked low and slow.

"Decided to see what you two were up to." She smacked her lips. "Confirmed my suspicions." She said looking over Sherlock. John grabbed a pillow and thrust it on to Sherlock's lap. Sherlock clutched on to the pillow tight and gulped.

"Erm... just... having a chat..." Sherlock stuttered.

"Looks like some chat. Do you always chat with your clothes off?"

"When the occasion, presents itself"

"Right... didn't hear much chatting from you Sherlock. Seems like Dr Watson likes his chats a bit much." John pulled the sheet over his head and turned away.

"Go away!" John shouted. Though he knew she wouldn't dare miss an opportunity to see them like this. So out in the open, exposed, vulnerable.

"Well it was quite rude of you two, leaving your guest all alone while retreating to the bedroom to have all the fun."

"We don't concern ourselves with social niceties." Sherlock stated coldly. John laughed under the sheets.

"I can see." She gave Sherlock one last look over. "Well, I've taken the liberty of ordering us some dinner. Go on and clean up then. No need to cover-up. I've seen it _all_ before." Sherlock drew in a breath, defiantly dropped the pillow, and stormed out of the room. John wrapped himself up in the sheet and made his hasty retreat, following at Sherlock's heels.

_The Iceman is melting and the Virgin has been deflowered. The Holmes brothers are in quite a débâcle._

_Time for dinner._


	11. A Taste of Medicine

"Sherlock, we have got to get rid of her. Sherlock!" Sherlock was breathing heavily on John's neck in the shower. He rocked his hips into John's backside and ran his fingers up John's torso. "Are you mad? She... We just got done with... Sherlock!" John shouted as Sherlock latched his lips on to the nape of John's neck. John turned around abruptly and held Sherlock by his shoulders. Sherlock leaned in to John's hold and used his weight to press John against the shower wall. Water coursed down Sherlock's head, flattening his curls, causing them to cover his eyes. He let out a low throaty laugh.

John held Sherlock firmly away at an arm’s length.

"What is wrong with you?" He pushed Sherlock out of the water stream and tried to get a better look at him. Sherlock started to let out a low sexy purr that quickly turned into a feral growl. He grabbed at John's shoulders and tried to pull him in for a kiss. "No, you've had enough for one night." John's hold slipped as Sherlock dragged him under the water's stream. John closed his eyes and turned away. He tried to keep his grasp on Sherlock's shoulder as water ran up his nose. He lost his hold and Sherlock pounced. He wrapped his arms around John and brought him into a bone crushing embrace. John was able to manoeuvre one arm out and press a hand against Sherlock's face to turn him away.

"Lay off would you?" John shouted as Sherlock's grip around his torso tightened. John pressed his hand into Sherlock's face more. Sherlock turned his face to meet John's palm and bit down. "Oi!" John shouted and Sherlock began growling with carnal desire once more. John removed his hand and stepped backward to drag Sherlock under the water once more, to hopefully snap him out of it. He really didn't want to hurt Sherlock but he was practically molesting him in the shower.

Sherlock gave John no choice when he decided to harshly shove John into the wall and start grinding against him. John hooked his leg around Sherlock's knee and shoved him to the tub's floor. Sherlock hit his head on the opposite wall. John was about to apologise when Sherlock looked up and started laughing maniacally. His look was absolutely predatory. John jumped out of the shower quickly and threw a towel on.

John darted out of the bathroom and into the living space where Irene Adler was waiting patiently, dressed only in a purple shirt. Sherlock's purple shirt.

"Having fun?" She asked with a cat-who-ate-the-canary grin.

"In the two seconds..." John caught his breath while his thoughts formed. "In those two seconds when I was using the toilet. Did you happen to... I don't know... drug my flatmate?"

Irene Adler shrugged and looked up at the ceiling. "Perhaps." She twirled her hair in one finger as she unsuccessfully tried to hold back a smile. Sherlock came running out of the bathroom, stark naked, bounding towards John. John had a moment to respond as Sherlock tried to tackle him. John threw Sherlock to the ground once more and held him down with one arm on his chest.

"What the hell did you give him?" John shouted. Sherlock began frantically tonguing at John's arm.

"Not entirely sure" She shrugged her shoulders. "One of those designer drugs. Good isn't it?" She sat up to get a better view. Sherlock's pupils were all out of sorts and over dilated. He pulled off John's towel in one clean sweep. Adler giggled at the sight. As John reached over to grab his towel, Sherlock took the opportunity to reach out and grope John's cock. John dealt a heavy slap across Sherlock's face. Sherlock's pupils constricted momentarily at the jolt. Then Sherlock began a low and evil laugh. He purred loudly as he looked over John's shocked face. John scrambled and made a break for it. Sherlock was quick on his heels.

They raced around John's arm chair, right in front of Irene Adler who couldn't hold back her joy for the sight. They stopped on either side and Sherlock faked right, John faked left, then they were back to the chase. John knew Sherlock would somehow outwit him. He knew his only option was to make way for the front door and call for help.

John swung open the front door and was met by a very large and well manicured guard. John went to slam the door shut and the man pressed his hand against the door and shoved John aside. Sherlock made his way to John and the man withdrew a needle and inserted it directly into Sherlock's neck.

Sherlock stumbled around a moment, his senses coming back to him, and then he hit the floor with a thud. John grimaced, expecting another needle to be sunk into his neck. The guard made his way entirely into the flat and stepped aside for his boss to make his entrance.

Mycroft walked with great lengthy strides into the flat, his eyes were fixed on a Miss Irene Adler. He didn't bother to carry an umbrella that evening, his suit was merely two piece, and unevenly pressed, with no tie about his neck. Behind his eyes was fire. He came to settle a score. Adler drew her legs in close, suddenly the flat seemed to drop several degrees; her legs were covered in goose bumps.

"My-"

"Enough" Mycroft snapped. He breathed deeply through his nose. The guard slammed the door shut. John stood, completely exposed next to the front door, while Sherlock started twitching; sprawled out on the floor. Mycroft reached into his coat's pocket and withdrew two leather gloves. He slid them on slowly, and buttoned the fasteners. He reached out his hand and held out a palm, beckoning his guard. The guard withdrew a military issue Browning pistol with a silencer attached to the muzzle.

He pointed it directly at Irene Adler's face. She raised her eyebrow. She was certain that Mycroft wouldn't get his hands dirty. Yet he held the handgun without the slightest waver. There was a small rap at the door. Another guard made his way in with a hand in his left coat pocket. Irene Adler looked curiously at the second guard. Then her mouth opened in shock when he withdrew a blackberry phone from his coat's pocket.

"How-" She started

"Silence!" Mycroft shouted. The second guard handed the phone over to his boss. Mycroft lifted one eyebrow and grinned. He shook the phone in his hand "Your crutch." He threw it on to the floor, only a few feet from Irene Adler.

"But... It contains-"

"I know, what it contains. That is why it must be destroyed."

"Destroyed! But it has secretes that could save the-"

"Lives of thousands? Spare me." Mycroft pointed the gun directly at the mobile. "Their lives are none of my concern."

"You wouldn't-" Only the handgun's slide clicking was audible but the sound of the phone shattering was deafening to Irene Adler. She screamed as Mycroft took two more well-aimed shots at the mobile. She dove on to her phone as if it would save it now. She cried heavily over the shattered pieces. Her composure was completely lost. Mycroft handed the gun back to his guard; he slid off his gloves, folded them, and gently placed them in his coat's pocket. He turned to leave.

Irene Adler sobbed heavily. She started to seethe with rage. She clenched her teeth.

"Why don't you shoot me as well?" She screamed. Mycroft turned at the threshold of the flat. He had a wicked grin on his face.

"Why, Mistress Adler, you know me." He looked her over and narrowed in his eyes. "I don't perform _mercy_ killings." With that his guards swept him away and left Irene Adler with her shattered life, John stark naked and shivering, and Sherlock in a drugged out sleep.

"You... um... spending the night then?" John asked sheepishly from the front of the room. Irene Adler broke down once more and gathered the pieces of her phone into the palms of her hands.

"Everything. I had every..." She stopped. She looked toward John. "No! Not everything. I know of one thing. One thing. If only... Yes... I must get to it first." Adler sprang up from the floor and headed straight for the door. "Sorry John Dear, I must be heading out, dinner's on the table... well near the table anyhow." She gave him a wink and left into the night. Without pants. John looked down at himself.

"Well... That was a fun one." He pushed at Sherlock's shoulder with his foot. "Wake up! You've missed everything." John sighed. "I've missed everything and I was here to witness it. Bloody hell." John leaned down beside Sherlock and forced open his eyes with his fingers. Sherlock looked completely out of it. He was a drooling mess and his eyelids fluttered convulsively. John willed Sherlock to stay on his side while he made his way to the bedroom. John threw on some pyjama bottoms and a white t-shirt. He grabbed some fresh linens and walked out to the front room. Sherlock stirred a bit on the cold floor. John threw a sheet over him and grabbed the bin from the kitchen and placed it near Sherlock.

John was sure this was going to be a long night making sure Sherlock didn't choke on his own vomit. He loved to spend his Wednesdays like this. Curled up on the sofa, watching crap telly, while his flatmate was drugged out of his mind on the floor drooling. Yes. Just another ordinary evening at 221B Baker Street.

At the very least, Irene Adler was out of John's hair. Though probably not for long. He really wished Sherlock could be awake to enjoy this moment of peace. Then again, if Sherlock was awake, this may not be a moment of peace.

"I still cannot believe you slept with that woman." John said into the air.

"No" Sherlock groaned. John snapped his attention toward Sherlock's unconscious form.

"Excuse me?" John looked intently. Then dismissed it. He tongued his cheek a moment. Flipped through the channels on the telly. Nothing good on, not that he expected anything to be on telly that was worthwhile. He turned the set off. "Sherlock, are you awake?"

"No." Sherlock answered low.

"Did you sleep with Irene Adler?"

"No." Sherlock moaned loudly.

"Did you sleep with me tonight?"

"Unh."

"Does that mean yes then?" John looked confused.

"Unh."

"So, when she was all over you and flirting with you, you didn't once hook up with her?"

"Unh."

"Wait... so is that unh you did or unh you didn't?"

"Unh!" Sherlock moaned. John resolved that he needed to word his questions better.

"You have never had sex with a woman, correct?"

"Unh."

Finally! John was getting some answers out of Sherlock. He had so many questions he had never had answered when Sherlock was in a normal state of mind. He thought hard about information he could pry from Sherlock in his state.

"Did you throw away the Christmas jumper Mrs. Hudson gave me?"

"Unh."

"Did you really eat dinner the other night?"

"No."

"Shit. How long has it been since you ate? Three days? Five? A week?"

"Unh."

"Christ Sherlock! How are you not dead? A whole week? What have you been doing?" John thought a moment. He shook his head. "Have you been... been on the needle?" John's left hand shook as he waited. His stomach dropped as time passed.

"Yes." Sherlock said coherently. John threw his head back. He sighed heavily, his chest felt tight.

"Why Sherlock? I thought... we were having such a nice time... We were just getting comfortable with each other. You have to go and... God you just have to fuck up everything don't you?" Sherlock groaned as the room started coming back to him. "You know you're a piece of work. What is it? Cocaine? Morphine?" Sherlock began to sit up. His head was spinning. "You know, don't tell me. You... you think your mind will always be as sharp as a tack. You're so aroused by your liquid mistresses and when will it be enough? Hm? Your brain will rot Sherlock Holmes. You squander such great talent and take it for granted."

"John." Sherlock moaned.

"You just think I'll stick around and let you destroy yourself."

"John!" Sherlock shouted.

"I'll leave, you know I-"

"John shut up! I'm not on drugs... well I am... was... am" Sherlock tried to keep from falling to the floor as he stood. "I was administered two intravenous solutions tonight. I'm not... abusing cocaine..." Sherlock stumbled toward the sofa; he took a seat on the coffee table for a moment.

"Oh..." John snapped his mouth shut. "I thought... yeah... Well that's good" John grimaced "Sorry I went off on you." John looked over Sherlock for a moment. Sherlock was sitting on the coffee table, completely naked, staring out the window, his hands were shaking violently. "Coming down from your high then?"

"Yeah. Nerves." Sherlock shook.

"You know you're naked." Sherlock looked down as if this was news to him. He nodded his head.

"Yes. I am." Sherlock crossed his arms and grabbed his shoulders as he shook. "Is it cold in here?"

"You're not wearing any clothes..." John offered.

"Yes, by why does it have to be so cold?" Sherlock held himself tighter and rocked back and forth.

"You know if you put some clothes on it would be a lot warmer."

"Would it?" Sherlock looked into John's eyes. John gave him a concerned look. John reached out a hand and grabbed Sherlock's arm, he pulled him over to the sofa and tried to warm him up. He rubbed a hand up and down Sherlock's arm.

"Better?" Sherlock nodded. "I'll get us a blanket." Sherlock grabbed John's wrist.

"Don't leave."

"I'm just going to the bedroom."

"No. You'll leave forever if you go in there."

"Surely you're not serious?"

"I am... and don't call me Sherly." John pushed Sherlock away and twisted his wrist out of Sherlock's grasp. John made his way to the bedroom and Sherlock began to scream out in fear. John plugged his ears.

"Christ! Sherlock! I'm getting a blanket! Get over it!" John covered his ears tight while Sherlock shivered on the sofa shouting for John to return. John pulled the comforter off the bed and tried to move quickly back to Sherlock who was in the middle of a panic attack. He threw the bedding over Sherlock and watched as he batted under the blanket searching for fresh air. Sherlock worked at breaking free for quite some time while John watched with his head titled to one side.

This was like an IQ test they performed on dogs when he was a kid, the smart ones were able to get off the blanket almost as quick as it was thrown on. The dumb ones took ages to find a way out. Sherlock gave up on the blanket and let it consume him. John pulled it back to reveal Sherlock's face. He was panting hard and there was panic in his eyes.

"You left me!" Sherlock shouted.

"You won't get dressed and it is freezing in here. I got us a blanket."

"I could have died!" Sherlock threw his head back on to the sofa. John seated himself at one edge of the sofa. Sherlock placed his head on John's lap and looked up his nose. "I could have _died_ "

"You didn't though. Come now Sherlock. Let's just watch some telly. Get this out of your system. Then we can talk about what happened while you were passed out."

"Mycroft destroyed the phone, the Woman left to find something to save her skin." Sherlock said plainly.

"You... you were unconscious... and you're tripping right now, yet..." John shook his head. "Your mind has been drugged way too many times. You are all sorts of levels of odd." John looked down at Sherlock with pity "What do you suppose she was trying to find?"

"Crisps"

"Crisps?"

"Yes and bacon. I'm starving." John blinked. He went to stand to get Sherlock anything he wanted to eat if it meant he would eat something.

"Don't leave!" Sherlock pleaded.

"How... How am I supposed to get you food if I can't get up?"

"Perhaps the woman will come back... with crisps... and bacon..."

"Sherlock. She's not coming back. She wouldn't bring food with her if she did."

"She left food didn't she?"

"Yes. Probably highly drugged food. You want to be drugged again tonight?"

"Yes... please." John groaned at Sherlock's mind set.

"You want food" Sherlock nodded. "Then get up with me, we'll go into the kitchen and find something." They stood together, the blanket slid off Sherlock. He clutched on to John for dear life as John slowly made his way to the kitchen. Sherlock shivered as John opened the fridge. "Body parts and condiments... Jam? You want some jam?" Sherlock shook his head. John tried to open the crisper drawer with his foot. "Some cheese?" Sherlock shook his head once more. John spotted Irene Adler's food offering. Thai food. John resolved not to tempt fate and let the take-away sit unopened. Sherlock sunk his grip into John's neck.

"Sher... Sher... you're choking me..." John pressed his hand up between Sherlock's forearm and his own neck to try create some breathing space. This would be one hell of an awkward scene to walk in on. Sherlock performing a rear-naked choke on John, while he was naked, pressed against John's rear. That is exactly what Lestrade thought of the scene as he stood in the doorway. _Awkward._

Lestrade had wondered if his recent binge drinking had finally let his mind slip. His brows furrowed in concern at the naked consulting detective trying to strangle his blogger. Lestrade's jaw was slack, he looked side to side. His eyes were heavy. He hadn't been on a call in a while. His mind was quite numb.

"Erm" He coughed into his hand. John twisted to view Lestrade in the doorway. John's face was turning purple as his oxygen was depleting. Lestrade rolled his eyes and strode into the kitchen. He tore Sherlock away from John and cuffed Sherlock's wrists behind his back. Sherlock struggled against his bindings and threw himself to the floor in attempt to escape them. John coughed and sputtered as his lungs filled with precious oxygen. Lestrade blinked a few times. He was entirely too exhausted to be out like this.

"Mrs Hudson's got holes in her ceiling. You two..." He looked at Sherlock who was wriggling on the floor and John who was still struggling to catch his breath. "Know anything?" Lestrade shook his head. This would normally elicit at least a chuckle from his old self. He had become so emotionally distant of late that this was more ridiculous than funny.

"Mycroft." John sputtered. Lestrade's stomach churned. His head ached at the name. He put out a hand on the counter to hold himself steady.

"Is everything all right in there boss?" Sgt Donovan shouted from the doorway.

"Yeah. You'd best stay out there. Less you're wanting to see Sherlock's pearly white arse."

"Ah, yuck" Sally Donovan stepped back from the door. "Thanks for the mental picture."

"Right, I'm ready. What's this about?" Lestrade looked into John's watery eyes.

"Irene Adler, she took some videos of y-y... um..." John stopped. Lestrade had deep bags under his eyes, he looked thoroughly depressed, hadn't been eating well, smoking again. John swallowed. "She had a video of you and... yeah..." John scratched the back of his head. Lestrade started to show some concern on his face.

"She had a video? What was I... were we doing?" Lestrade looked deeply into John's eyes.

"SEX!" Sherlock shouted from the floor "He had you bent over a chair and was buggering you while you clutched on to a chair like a cock slut."

"SHERLOCK! You fuck! You shut the hell up" John held himself back from kicking Sherlock in the teeth. Lestrade lost his balance as his knees buckled. John brought him slowly to the floor while Lestrade panted heavily from shock.

"Quick! Get the blanket!" Sherlock laughed.

"You bastard. You shut up. You are... beyond cruel right now."

"My parents were married when I was conceived." Sherlock laughed. John grabbed Lestrade who was rocking back and forth on the kitchen floor and helped him walk into the living area. Sherlock screamed at John to stay. He thrashed around in his hand cuffs and cursed wildly. John opened the front door, glared at Sherlock, and pulled Lestrade on to the landing between the staircases. He shut the door behind him.

"He's out of his mind. Don't listen to a damn word he says. The woman showed up here; she gave him some wild designer drug that made him all sex crazed. Then his brother showed up with his guards and knocked him out. Listen." John grabbed Lestrade by the shoulders. "Mycroft, he destroyed the phone, there's no more video." A tear rolled down Lestrade's cheek as he shook in John's arms. He wasn't anything like the man John had known for years. "Go home. Get some sleep. Stop... stop it with the alcohol. It only makes things worse. I know... you know I know." John let go of Lestrade's shoulder. He straightened up, wiped his eyes with his sleeve, and gave John a nod. He headed down the stairs to the awaiting police car.

John thought a moment. _Oh shit! The handcuff keys._ Sherlock opened the door and peered out. In his hands were the shiny metal cuffs, undone. He was Houdini reincarnated. John clenched his fist and debated socking Sherlock in the gut for what he had said to Lestrade. Sherlock was sweating and licking his lips.

"Why can't we just have a normal night?" John whined. Sherlock pulled him by the wrist into the flat.

"I've figured it out John."

"What... what have you figured out?" John asked not caring.

"She's after a copy of us. You and me. Me and you. You know?" Sherlock was jittery and bounced from foot to foot. "She's gonna use it against Mycroft again. This time. This time she's going to be more careful. She might even start handing out copies. A little preview. Eh? Eh?" Sherlock was creeping out John more than ever before. It was as if he was coming off every drug at once and was presenting the most fascinating symptoms.

"Go to bed Sherlock."

"Make me." Sherlock beckoned with his hands. He took a fighting stance. John heard his phone ping. He put a hand up to Sherlock to tell him to wait. He retrieved it from the side table and looked at the message. Sherlock hopped from foot to foot, stretched his neck side to side, preparing for a fight.

**Forgot to mention, love. There's a little antidote in the take-away bag. XOXO- IA**

John debated whether or not to trust Irene Adler in this situation. Given that he was about to get into a bare-knuckle brawl with his partner, he thought it best to give it a try. One last drug for the night. Then he would make sure Sherlock would never see a needle again. John made his way to the kitchen and opened the take-away bag. Inside was a hypodermic needle filled with some mystery pharmaceutical. John shook his head. He clutched it and walked over to Sherlock.

"May I borrow your arm?" John asked politely.

"Yeah sure" Sherlock offered his arm willingly. John pinched Sherlock's upper arm, slid in the needle, and pressed the plunger. Sherlock looked at him for a moment. Blinked a few times. Then fell on to his doctor. John was taken aback by the rapid onset and fell to the floor with Sherlock on top of him. His dead weight was crushing John's pelvis.

"Uh. That's it. No more drugs. Not even pain killers." John pushed Sherlock away and was able to wriggle free. He checked Sherlock's pulse and breathing. He dragged over the blanket and placed it on Sherlock's bare back. John knelt down next to Sherlock and contemplated whether or not he was going to sleep on the floor as well. He decided if Sherlock woke up without him there he would be devastated. So he lay down beside Sherlock and drew him in close. Sherlock enjoyed his cuddles, even the unconscious ones.

John drifted off into a much needed sleep. The entire day had taken a toll on him mentally. No doubt Sherlock would be in physical distress in the morning from the amount of drugs he had been administered in a short time frame. He would be a pain. More so than usual.

After an hour, Sherlock started to stir and John opened his eyes.

"You ready to move to the bed?" John grabbed Sherlock's arm and helped him up. He threw Sherlock's arm over his shoulder and helped him hobble into the bedroom and lay him down on the bed. Sherlock rolled over on to his side and fell back asleep. John remembered that he hadn't changed the sheets yet. He sighed and threw the comforter over the spot that he was not about to sleep in. He laid down on top of the bedding and fell heavily into the pillows. He drifted off once more.

John was jarred awake by Sherlock's moaning. He had wrapped a leg around John's body and was gyrating his hips against John’s groin. John grabbed Sherlock's leg and threw it off him. He switched sides and turned his back to Sherlock.

Sherlock threw his leg over once more and started moaning again. John went to move his leg and Sherlock drew John into a hug. He held on tight to John and constricted him. John could breathe but he couldn't possibly break free of Sherlock's hold.

"Sherlock."

"Mm."

"Sherlock, let go."

"Mine" He drew John in as close as possible and purred into his ear.

"You're still under the influence."

"No, it is entirely out of my system."

"Then you're grinding into me why?"

"Horny." Sherlock pressed into John and held him there. "Mm... You smell like me."

"Sherlock I'm exhausted."

"Lay there and take it." Sherlock growled.

"Lovely to hostile in a heartbeat. I just want to rest."

"No, you want me to bury me in you."

"God, Sherlock. When did you start talking like this? It is so unlike you. You used to be clever and witty. Not some sex-crazed junkie."

"You're my fix, get used to it."

"Is that all I am? A fix?" John huffed.

"No. You're also my lover."

John snorted. "Your lover then? I've been wondering what we are. Boyfriends, fuck buddies, flatmates."

"Uh, need doctor."

John tried to turn toward Sherlock. "Should I take you in? Do you need an ambulance?" John worried.

"No, need Dr. Watson" Sherlock stopped rubbing against John and took to biting gently at the back of his neck.

"I'm going to kill you in a minute." John huffed.

"Jus lemme have one more shag." Sherlock said breathing hard onto John's neck.

"No!" John struggled to be released. Sherlock held him firm. He started running his tongue down the nape of John's neck. John squirmed. "That doesn't feel... it feels weird, stop!" Sherlock's hot breath on John's neck was tickling his hairs and making him uncomfortable. John tried an alligator roll to loosen Sherlock. Instead of shaking him off they ended up face to face. Sherlock sunk in his grip and held John tight against his chest.

"Hi." Sherlock looked into John's eyes. Sherlock grinned and placed a kiss on John's forehead. Sherlock rocked his hips against John once more. "Sex." he said tantalizingly. "You know you want to." Sherlock bit his bottom lip in anticipation.

"Not when your mind is fucked up. I promised myself I wouldn't-" Sherlock let out a large groan and pushed John away, almost sending him off the bed.

"My God! I live in a Tibetan monastery!" Sherlock held his head in his hands and moaned. "Where is a bloke supposed to get off round here?"

John gritted his teeth. "Just because I won't have sex with you this one time."

"You've never said no before!"

"Yes I have! Plenty of times in fact, you just always get your way in the end." Sherlock scooped up John into a hug once more and smiled maliciously.

"I do?"

"No! Not this time. I'm putting my foot down." Sherlock pouted, his lower lip quivered. "What... what makes you think that would ever work on me?" John looked away, trying not to laugh.

"What if I said please?" Sherlock whined.

"Nope, still not going to. You are cut off for the night."

"And the morning?" Sherlock inquired.

"Keep it up and the whole rest of the week." Sherlock pressed his knees up to John’s chest and launched John off the bed and on to the floor. John lay stunned for a moment. He got up and tried to get back on the bed. Sherlock put a foot to John's chest and pushed him away.

"You can't share my bed if you don't let me shag you." Sherlock hissed. John threw his arms up into the air.

"Fine! Give me a pillow then." Sherlock defensively placed his arms over the pillows.

"No, they're mine." John clenched his jaw, grabbed a pillow from under Sherlock's head and stormed out of the room. John slammed the door behind him and made his way to the sofa. He threw down the pillow at one end and sat down on to the sofa. He curled up into a ball and rested his head on his solitary pillow.

Now he was cold and out cast by his flatmate, lover, partner, whatever the hell he was. Who did Sherlock think he was throwing John out like that? Kicking him out of the bed just because he didn't want to have sex with him. John had said no all the time! Did Sherlock ever listen? Of course not. The git. The jerk. The brat.

Yet John couldn't help but sigh at the thought of him. How he turned John to absolute mush. Maybe their relationship was _too_ intimate. That had to be it. They were letting each other get inside one another's heads and were manipulating each other's emotions. This is how heterosexual couples worked. Perhaps homosexual as well. John couldn't quite figure it out. They weren't exactly a traditional couple. Moreover John still wasn't convinced he was entirely gay.

He still wanted children. Not with Sherlock though. My God, what a mess that would be. That man's children? Spawns of the devil. Plus John would be the mother in the relationship. He wouldn't get a smidge of help from Sherlock. All on his own with three kids. Why three? Well two was far too traditional, a boy and a girl. Now three was odd. It worked. Good dynamic. You get the messed up first born because the parents tried to raise them out of a book, the middle child they ignored, and the baby that was spoiled rotten. Three is ideal.

Not that two men could have a child. Science was too far away from that achievement. John wasn't entirely sure he'd want to be pregnant either and adopting? They'd mess up someone else's kid. Maybe they should try babysitting first. What the hell was John thinking? Of course not! He was right pissed at Sherlock and now he was imagining them having children together? Ridiculous. Completely ridiculous. Hamish is a terrible name for a boy anyhow. What was Sherlock's middle name? Hm. Probably something as equally ridiculous as the name Sherlock.

His mother must have been doped up when she came up with that one. Oh... there John went again with bad inside thoughts. They do count. They really do. He felt terrible for thinking of Mummy Holmes like that. Bless. Giving birth to both Mycroft and Sherlock. John sighed. Must have been terrible.

Interesting family dynamics there. Two children, would be a bore otherwise, but split seven years apart. He wondered how much of a hand Mycroft had in raising Sherlock, or whether his nannies were the only human interaction Sherlock received. Mycroft was an okay brother it seemed. He did care. A lot of history between the two of them, then again Harry and John had a lot of history as well.

She never coped well with stress. John had tried to care for her and it became too much for one man to bear. God, would it be like this with Sherlock? Was he going to become too much for John to the point where he stopped caring all together? He still wanted to care about his sister.

"Arg" John groaned. He just couldn't stand the way she had to destroy herself. If she gave one damn about herself and wanted change, John would be there. Until then, he couldn't handle the burden. Sherlock needed to take care of himself as well. Not eating, not sleeping, running himself ragged. Then again, what was John for? He took good care of Sherlock. Well that and he fucked him. Christ John, dirty minded pervert.

Sherlock came out of his room, still naked. John groaned.

"At least put some clothes on." Sherlock ignored him and lay directly on top of John. John moved his legs to try make himself comfortable. He brought himself on to his back and let Sherlock rest his head on his chest. John couldn't help but pet at Sherlock's curls. He dug his nails in and scratched at Sherlock's head. Sherlock made a content purr.

Sherlock was an over-sized house cat. He groomed himself obsessively, growled and hissed at company, and was bipolar about being petted. Moreover, he refused to have a dog in the house. The more Sherlock said they couldn't have one, the more John wanted a slobbery companion. Well... another slobbery companion. One that wouldn't hump at his leg like the one on his chest. My God was he heavy. John shifted under Sherlock's weight.

At the very least, John wasn't cold anymore.

"Why do you hate me?" Sherlock asked. His low voice rumbled John's ribcage.

"I don't hate you. You're just so impossible." John twirled one of Sherlock's locks in his finger and let it go. It sprang back like a pig's tail. John grinned.

"I'm not impossible. I just wanted sex." Sherlock sighed.

"Well you can't always have everything your way." Sherlock moaned in discontent. "Listen, I don't get to have a dog or children and you don't see me complaining constantly."

"I'll get you a small child and a puppy if you'd just sleep with me." John flicked the top of Sherlock's head. "Ow..." Sherlock said plainly. "And by sleep with me, I meant the kind of sleep where you have sex with me."

"I know what kind you meant" John sighed. "I'm not in the mood, nor do I want to be. It has been a long night, I just want to rest."

"Fine. I'll just go find someone else." Sherlock began to press up on his hands.

"Sherlock!" John grabbed Sherlock's wrist. "You can't be serious!"

"Well I hear Lestrade's broken up with his." Sherlock looked into John's eyes. "Plus he's a bottom" Sherlock bit his bottom lip. John slapped him smartly across the face. "Ow! Why do you keep hitting me?"

"You are such a prick, go back to the hole you crawled out of." John threw Sherlock off of him and on to the floor. Sherlock rubbed his face and a small tear formed in his eye. "Oh, you're going to cry about it? Yeah, I've seen this act before. You crying on command, to manipulate people. I'm not having it." John turned his back to Sherlock.

Sherlock wiped his fake tear away, stood up, and went for his coat. He threw it around himself and turned up the collar and made his way for the door.

"Sherlock! You're not wearing pants! Where are you going?" John shouted.

"You know full well where I'm off to! Don't wait up!" Sherlock slammed the door and John rolled over and groaned.

_He wouldn't. Would he?_


	12. Wine and Dine

"Sherlock... you erm... got any pants on?" Lestrade looked down at Sherlock's bare shins and feet.

"No, now let me in."

Lestrade gulped as he stepped to the side to let Sherlock in. "Sorry... it's a bit of a mess."

"No. No. I prefer it. Gives me more to look at." Sherlock scanned through Lestrade's filthy flat.

_A bottle a day drinker. Gin. Brandy. Vodka. All cut-price. His wife has cut him off finances. His children haven't been by in... three weeks? Possibly four. Evident by the spot on the wall, whiter than the rest. His floors... swept. Doesn't own a mop. Likely owns a bucket. No washer/dryer and no laundry facility on site. Stain on his shirt, worn twice this week. His stubble suggests he's out of shaving gel. Hasn't been drunk in three days; returned to work just today._

"How's work?" Sherlock asked with his hands behind his back. He continued to scan Lestrade's flat.

"It's fine... just returned today."

"Yes. I see." Sherlock looked down at his own feet.

_I seem to have misplaced my shoes..._

Sherlock's brows furrowed in concern.

_And my... trousers._

Sherlock looked towards Lestrade; then he pulled his overcoat in tight. He looked away toward the tiny kitchen. More of a kitchenette. The mobile dishwasher. Obvious sign this flat is dirt cheap. His neighbours likely dealing in... heroin? Cocaine? Hm. Both. Someone had a baby three doors down. Newborn by the smell coming in. Newborns are fine, give them time, they start their descent into being obnoxious human beings. Smelly, noisy, disgusting. And John wants children? He doesn't know the first thing about the creatures. Why bring another life on to this overcrowded planet?

Lestrade closed the front door gently and started rubbing his face. He looked Sherlock over. His brain was trying to work out any possible reason Sherlock would show up at his flat in the middle of the night in only his trench coat. Oh God. He wanted sex.

"Listen Sher-"

"I'm not here to forcibly have penetrative sex with you."

"Ah, bless" Lestrade let out a huge sigh. "You want a drink or... fuck all I have is water... Sorry." Sherlock just looked over Lestrade judgementally and turned his head toward the hallway.

"Two bedrooms... you expected to have joint custody of your children. What does the ex-wife think of the alcohol abuse?"

"She doesn't-"

"And the affair with my brother?"

"Shit Sherlock, if this is what you came round for... we... he broke it off. It's been... shit I don't even know... Been hitting the bottle... feels like years..."

"Hardly even two weeks." Sherlock scoffed.

"Yeah. You really know how to cheer a bloke up" Lestrade sighed and fell into his sofa. "You know, you can piss off if this is what-"

"I had a row with John."

"Oh, that's good... I mean fuck... Sorry." Lestrade brought his hands to his face. "Here, have a seat." He motioned to the love-seat he was on. Sherlock grimaced.

"If I had a seat I would all but be on top of you and seeing as I am-"

"Yeah, get the picture. I'm not interested either. I'm not interested in anything anymore." Lestrade sighed.

"I came here about John. You can keep your... depressing remarks to yourself..."

"You're a right prick, you know that?"

"I'm aware... I believe that's what John called me before I left."

"Well he's spot on. No wonder you two were at it." Sherlock strolled over and took a seat next to Lestrade. The sofa sunk in a little. Sherlock was uncomfortably close to the Detective Inspector.

"What do I do?" Sherlock looked into Lestrade's eyes searchingly. Lestrade drew himself as far back as he could manage to create some distance.

"You're consulting me?" Lestrade raised an eyebrow. "That'd make me the consulting detective's detective who's consulting the-"

"Yes... cute" Sherlock frowned. Sherlock stood and began pacing the floor. "What did I do? I was drugged! Surely he must understand my actions were influenced by my state of mind."

"Well what was the fight about?"

"Sex."

"Oh... right..." Lestrade looked at the floor uncomfortably "Is that... what I walked in on earlier?"

"No. John was making me dinner."

Lestrade looked concerned. "Yeah... didn't look like it." Sherlock huffed. "Well... If that's how you two 'make dinner' then." Sherlock glared at Lestrade. "I'm just... I'm just trying to help. You know... provide a little comic relief."

"Is that what you did for my brother then? Provided him a little 'comic relief''?

"Sherlock Holmes. When have you ever referred to him as your brother?" Sherlock went to open his mouth. "I know... I know... I know!" Lestrade shouted. The last thing he wanted to hear from Sherlock was how Mycroft suddenly became his brother once more when Lestrade started taking it up the arse from him. It wasn't like Lestrade had initiated the... transaction? Transactions. "It's over. Done with. Just... forget about it."

"You won't."

"What?"

"You are obviously torturing yourself because of the affair. Drinking. Smoking, up to three packs a day. Isolating yourself from others. You blame yourself. You shouldn't." Lestrade looked at Sherlock with confusion. Since when did Sherlock start... caring? "Mycroft is a bitch" Lestrade snorted. He laughed for the first time in weeks.

"Yeah. That he is." Lestrade sighed.

"You still like him. It is completely irrational."

"What should I do?" Lestrade consulted the consulting detective.

"Find someone else, obviously. There are so many other... men?" Sherlock looked into Lestrade's eyes a moment. "Right... so many other _people_ out there. Perhaps anyone of consenting age is better than having relations with Mycroft." Sherlock shuddered at the thought. "Even your ex-wife would be a better fit for you."

"Sherlock, I get that he's blood, but seriously. He's a..." Well Lestrade couldn't say nice guy. Decent guy. Not Satan? Close. Well instead of being surrounded by the flames of hell, Mycroft was made of pure ice. "I have no idea. It is counter-intuitive but such is the case with-"

"Oh my God! Love? You can't-"

"SEX! SHERLOCK! SEX!" Lestrade shouted.

"Oh... why should that matter?" Sherlock turned on his heels and looked up at the ceiling.

_Aspergillus niger. Little ventilation, keeps the door open when he showers. Don't use the lavatory at any cost._

"Unlike you, sex matters for some people. Most people." Lestrade brought Sherlock's attention back.

"Sex matters for me." Sherlock sneered.

"Yeah... for primal caveman shit. I'm talking bout emotions... you know? Those _things_ humans have."

"I have plenty of emotions."

"You have the emotional range of a tea spoon."

"A tea spoon doesn't-"

"Exactly!" Lestrade slapped his hands on his knees and stood up. "If you gave a shit about how _others_ feel, maybe John wouldn't have thrown you out!"

"I left on my own accord! And I do... _give a shit_." Sherlock turned away in embarrassment. "I don't want John mad."

"You don't want John mad at _you._ You're a right selfish git you know that?" Lestrade sighed. "Try put yourself in John's shoes."

"They're-"

"Too small. Yeah yeah, funny. Think like John for a moment! Feel his emotions. Show some empathy for once!" Sherlock turned away and started pacing. Lestrade took a seat once more. This was going to take a while. He put his head on his hand and shut his eyes.

_Think like John. John..._

Sherlock focused in. He wasn't in mind palace territory, this was something new. Empathy. How does John _feel_?

_John... forty-one years of age, five-six, wears... No. How does John think? Just recently admitted he fancies his flatmate. Been with countless women over the five years we've been together. Yes but... This is hard. Not impossible._

"How do I start?"

"With the fight." Lestrade said tiredly. He yawned slightly.

_Right. Tried to jump him in the shower. He pushed me away. He was frightened I was administered an entactogen. I was. Was that all? He refused me because I was under the influence? No. It had to be more. I was coming off. I told him. He still refused me. I was stabilized when I attempted... the third? Fourth time? I really wanted him._

"Why would he refuse me?" Sherlock asked the air. He switched to thinking out loud, much to Lestrade's dismay. "The shower, I can understand. Tackling him, that wouldn't put him in the mood. The strangling, of course not. Cutting off oxygen... I wasn't trying to get him in bed at that point, only get some food." Sherlock thought to his enteric system. Still hungry. "Do you eat?" Lestrade looked up at Sherlock.

"Yeah, course I eat... what kind of-"

"Anything in the cupboards?" Sherlock's stomach started to growl.

"Biscuits?" Lestrade offered. Sherlock groaned.

"What about meats? You know... Ungulate preferably. I'd even eat horse if you had it."

"I... biscuits?" Lestrade offered again.

"Tell me you have at least some form of omega-6? Omega-3? I'd take anything. Oils? Not vegetable based... Animal fats... Need _meat_." Sherlock's stomach was cramping from starvation.

"There's... a 24 hour place... down the road..."

"Yes. Yes. No... shit." Sherlock slammed his fist against the wall.

"What?" Lestrade began to stand up.

"Naked!" Sherlock motioned to himself.

"I'll lend you something to wear." Sherlock looked him over from head to toe.

"Shirt yes. Trousers would be a bit short."

"I'll give you a pair a sweats. People won't mind your ankles showing, might mind if they see your bits hanging out." Sherlock drew his overcoat close around his body. Lestrade snorted. "I've got an old pair of trainers-"

"Far too small."

"You can cut out the toes, don't mind."

"This isn't a _date_ "

"The fuck made you think it was?" Lestrade looked at him seeming repelled. "Two mates going down to get some grub in the wee hours of the morning. People will think you're just a drunk."

"How about you?"

"What bout me?"

"What will people think of you?"

"That I'm your dad or summat"

Sherlock held back a grin. "You're too young."

"Thanks." Lestrade was stunned by the sudden politeness.

"Though it is physiologically possible. Not unheard of, a thirteen year old fathering-"

"Right, shut up then. You big prick."

"Shouldn't be looking at my personal parts when I'm vulnerable and exposed like this, especially after your nasty break up. You're liable to-"

"Let's try it again. Shut the _fuck_ up. I'm getting you some clothes." Lestrade made a hasty retreat to his bedroom and dug around for some clothes.

"I did tell John I'd be getting into your trousers tonight." Sherlock yelled back to Lestrade.

"No wonder he gave you the boot!" Lestrade shouted back.

"Like I said, I walked out on my own free will!" Lestrade returned with a pair of grey sweats and a white t-shirt. "I'm impressed! Clean. With the state of your flat and the lack of laundry facilities within walking distance, I expected-"

"Shut up and put em on then." Sherlock de-robed immediately and Lestrade put up a hand to block the view and turned away. "Christ! Tell a guy before you go giving em a private show."

"You can look now, I'm decent."

"Yeah, like you're ever decent." Lestrade looked him over. The sweats covered his ankles fine and the shirt was plenty long. "Yeah if you borrowed John's clothes those would be shorts and you'd have a belly shirt." Sherlock sighed. "Sorry. Let's get you something to eat. I'm starved as well."

* * *

"Meth. Meth. Serial rapist. Also meth. Cocaine. Cocaine dealer. That girl is underage..."

"Sherlock... It's a 24 hour joint. What did you expect?"

"No signs of rats or other vermin. No doubt the food is questionable... The staff would likely under cook eggs. Store poultry with the red meats. I suppose I'm ordering my meat well-done. Cremated to be sure. Autoclaved shortly after."

"Live a little." Lestrade said looking over the menu.

"You know what you're ordering, you're avoiding making eye-contact with that man over there."

"I arrested him twice on drug chargers when I was younger. You'd avoid eye-contact as well. He did time Sherlock."

"Right. How do I get any bloody service around here?"

"Wait until dawn when the drugged out waitress decides to make her rounds."

"She has five children and works nights. Be _sensitive_ Lestrade."

"She snorts coke and you know it."

"Still has five children." Sherlock said sipping his water. "God... Did they get this from the Thames?"

"Sewer if we're lucky. Probably glows in the dark." Sherlock held it to the light. He pulled out a pen with a UV light. "You carry a black light?"

"Great at parties."

Lestrade snorted at the comment. "Couldn't imagine you at the clubs."

"Me neither." Sherlock put his pen away. "It's clean. Likely hard minerals. Not lead or mercury though. The pipes are rusted. Tastes of oxidized iron."

"You taste test your chem set?"

"Only the non-lethal compounds."

"Duh." Lestrade let his jaw go slack.

"I don't believe you to be incompetent. At least not entirely."

"I'll take that as a compliment."

"It was." The waitress bellied up to their table. "Six" Sherlock said plainly to Lestrade.

"What's that then?" She asked.

"Don't mind him. He's coming off a high." Sherlock glared at Lestrade. "Eggs, scrambled, potatoes, bacon. He'll have the same. Three times the bacon"

"Is three times the price, love." Sherlock went to say something and Lestrade put up a hand.

"Is fine." Lestrade responded. She hurried off to the back.

"Who said you'd be ordering for me. It's not a _date_ "

"You were itching to say something prickish and get yourself thrown out. I'm not popping down the shop for groceries and making you eggies and bacon like I'm your new John."

"I never said you were my new John."

"You told him you and I were going to hook up!"

"I obviously didn't mean it." Sherlock huffed.

"Probably hurt his feelings."

"Feelings" Sherlock scoffed. "If John didn't have so many... He cares, way too much."

"Yeah. Back to sex not mattering."

"God, not here. Someone will hear." Sherlock gave a quick look around.

"You shy?" Lestrade gave him a look.

"I don't want a bunch of drug addicts and serial rapists hearing about my sex life."

"It's about sex in general! It carries feelings, meanings. You just cast it off like it's some ritual that has to be performed."

"It's hardly ritualistic. It's rarely consistent. I'd say spontaneous but John always resists when he's not the one initiating. It's a constant power struggle" Sherlock sighed.

"Bet it's not always. There's bound to be times where you two have both consented. If not, then sorry mate, you're fucked."

"Like you and-"

"I'm just trying to help you. John's a special guy. He doesn't form attachments easy, trust issues. You got him all caught up in emotions and he's attached."

"Like you and-"

"Sherlock. You mention me and your brother one more time I'll leave." Lestrade looked serious. Sherlock looked away toward the windows. "Ok then."

"So John believes sex is more than just physical contact? He's all emotionally attached. Then why won't he just let me at it whenever I please? If he cares so much."

"Be-because! Don't you know jack-shit about romance?"

Sherlock groaned. "Like you do?"

"Quite a bit actually. Got it drilled into my brain by the ex. She wouldn't let my prick anywhere near her if I didn't wine and dine her."

"Like you're doing to me now?"

"Yeah you're whining in a diner, big difference."

Sherlock smiled. "Right! Romance. Do tell."

"You can't just fuck em. You gotta ease them into it. Warm them up to the idea."

"Yes but we've copulated many times."

"Yeah but how many times can John say you actually made love? Actually took your time with it. Made it special."

"Once."

"There you go." The waitress came by with their plates of food. Sherlock looked down at the pile of bacon and his stomach started up again. "Thanks love" Lestrade said dismissing her. "Exactly! Once. Out of however many times-"

"John took me four times... five if you count..."

"Don't! Really! Don't need to know."

"You're the one talking about my sex life not me." Sherlock bit into two pieces of bacon at once. "So you're suggesting I fill him up with food and wine, get him a bit sloshed and then have at it? Wouldn't he get motion sickness?"

Lestrade let out a heavy sigh and let his head fall into his hands. "I wasn't suggesting getting John drunk. That's rape."

"Not if he's conscious. I wasn't suggesting I'd knock him out and-"

"Wine and dine... Doesn't mean get your partner drunk off their arse and have your way with them. It's subtle. Work em up. Christ Sherlock."

"Sounds like foreplay." Sherlock grimaced.

"Exactly."

"Unh" Sherlock bit into another piece of bacon. Lestrade poked at his eggs, they were leaking. How do eggs leak anyhow? The egg juice was getting into his potatoes. He decided to start with them. Eggs were a bad choice with his sudden onset of acid reflux.

"Just do something nice for the guy. He'll have to fuck you if you're pleasant."

"I'd prefer the inverse."

"Sherlock. Do shut up." He bit into his potatoes. Made from frozen. Possibly freezer burned before they were fried up.

"You eating that?" Sherlock pointed to Lestrade's bacon.

"You ate like nine pieces? The hell?" Lestrade looked up at Sherlock.

"Eight. They cheated me one. I'm not leaving a tip."

"Thought you said she had five kids and one on the way."

"She should lay off cocaine in her state. Don't want to supply her habit."

"Yeah. Sure can purchase a ton of coke with two quid."

"One if she was lucky. She's not. Bacon. Now." Sherlock reached out.

"You steal John's bacon as well?"

"Yes 'New John', give." Sherlock plunged his hand on to Lestrade's plate and stole his three pieces.

"Could have left me one" Lestrade huffed.

"Could have." Sherlock raised his eyebrows and shoved the last three pieces in his mouth. "Not thick cut. Kind John gets. It does the trick none the less."

"You eating your eggs?"

"Egg substitute."

"I figured." Lestrade pushed them with his fork.

"You wouldn't have acid reflux if you didn't drink so much."

"Concerned?"

"Bit." Sherlock coughed.

"Since when?"

"Since you started taking it up the arse from-"

"Oh piss off you wanker." Lestrade threw a fork full of egg substitute at Sherlock's face. Sherlock laughed. "Since when did we become all chummy? And don't say since I started taking it up the arse from your brother."

"I just needed advice. Expect the same calibre of verbal abuse you're accustomed to in the morning."

"It is morning..." Lestrade looked at his wristwatch. "Bout four actually."

"John's likely asleep. I told him not to wait up."

"Yeah, bitch move, Sherlock." Sherlock shrugged at Lestrade's remark. "You should send him a text; tell him you're all right." Sherlock patted his coat's pockets. "Oh yeah and you should mention you're not shagging me, that'd be lovely." Lestrade looked at Sherlock who was searching his pockets. "No phone?"

"No pocket book either."

"Right, guess I'll be a gentleman and pay for yours. Lucky you're a cheap date." Sherlock growled as he started digging into the rest of his food. "Never seen you eat like this before."

"Likely a side effect from the tetrahydrocannabinol in the mystery cocktail."

"You going to be all right?"

"Certainly. Had worse." Sherlock finished off his food and looked toward Lestrade's plate. Lestrade pushed it over and Sherlock began devouring it.

"So... I gave you a bit of advice, I'm paying for your dinner, leant you some clothes-"

"You want to know how to get back together with Mycroft." Sherlock stated.

"Yeah... it's a bit ridiculous-"

"Completely ridiculous. I'd give up on the pursuit of my brother. It isn't worthwhile. Not in the slightest." Sherlock looked up from his food for a moment. Lestrade was slumped back in his seat; his eyes drooped like a basset hound. Sherlock sighed. "What would you like to know?"

"What he likes... who he's liked... things like that." Lestrade sat up and looked at Sherlock, still sad but intent on Sherlock's response.

"I was ten when he went away to uni. He had his fair share of mates but mostly kept to himself. He kept up appearances, for Mummy's sake. He was engaged... to a woman." Lestrade shifted in his seat. "They were to be married in the summer before he left for uni, he broke it off. He never gave a reason. Likely her brother had something to do with it. He did seem quite fond of my brother. Made him smile and laugh. I'd never seen him so happy."

"What happened to him?"

"He went to France for vacation. Came back with two gentlemen. Said Mycroft could join them and Mycroft spat in his face. He left for uni. Never brought home any girlfriends. Never spoke of his ex-fiancée and her brother."

"Is that how he became emotionally distant then?"

Sherlock looked away for a moment. "No. It hardly affected him at all. He was angry for a short time. Then it was as if the whole affair never took place."

"When then did he-"

"It has nothing to do with sex or relationships; therefore, is none of your concern."

"Yeah, but-"

"Leave it." Sherlock sneered. Lestrade sighed.

"What else then? About his relationships?"

"That's all."

"How can that be it? What he got engaged and broke it off because his love interest wanted a four-way?"

"He is a secretive man, what he does in private is a well guarded secret."

"You're his brother! Surely you must know something."

"His private life is enigmatic. I'd prefer to keep it that way."

"Fat lot of help you are." Lestrade slumped back in his seat once more.

"I told you everything you need to know. He likes exclusive relationships. Would never engage in public displays of affection to keep up appearances. He becomes emotionally attached to those who provide comic relief. He likes cake-"

"Wait... How was I to pull that he likes cake from that story?"

"Sub-text?"

"Not even close." Lestrade laughed. "What type?"

"Any, it's his one comfort."

"Hm." Lestrade thought to himself.

"Oh God. You're thinking of seducing my brother with baked goods. I'm going to vomit."

"Seduce him? If I could find the bloody man. I just get mystery texts and a car shows up. Well... used to."

Sherlock scoffed. "He could have at least given you his number."

"I know, right? Wait... why are you... what's your game?" Lestrade looked at him concerned.

"I could contact him on your behalf."

"And say what?"

"You're willing to negotiate."

"Negotiate what?"

"Another business contract."

"Why would you do that? For me?" Lestrade looked him over.

"Selfless act."

"Right because you're a fucking saint Sherlock. What's your angle?"

"Does there need to be a motive?"

"With you? Yes."

"This time, I'm purely looking out for your best interests. You dressed me, fed me, and gave me sound advice. The least I could do is make an attempt at making you... _happy_."

Lestrade thought a moment. He tongued his cheek. "Ok. I'll take you up on your offer. But if you blind-side me, I swear."

"Honest. I will do my best to set up negotiations and we'll see from there."

Sherlock made a half attempt at a smile. Lestrade shrugged.

"I suppose-"

"Great. Your mobile." Sherlock held out his hand.

"Yeah but it's late... or early rather."

"Doesn't matter." Sherlock beckoned for the phone.

"I hope you know what you're doing." Lestrade pulled out his mobile and placed it in Sherlock's palm. Sherlock began typing away. Then he gave Lestrade a grin and placed the phone on the middle of the table. Sherlock stood and drew his coat closed, he flipped up the collar, and gave Lestrade one last grin and made his way for the exit.

Lestrade picked up his phone and went to look at the text Sherlock sent.

"I'm prepared to negotiate a new business contract, my office, one hour." Lestrade scrolled down, he stared at the rest of the message for a moment. He slammed his fist on to the table. "SHERLOCK BLOODY HOLMES!" Lestrade threw cash on to the table and ran out after Sherlock.

He looked around and Sherlock was nowhere to be seen. "Sherlock you arse! I'm gonna kill you!" Lestrade looked back down at his mobile.

**I'm prepared to negotiate a new business contract, my office, one hour. Lots and lots of love, your cock-slut -Gregory Lestrade**

Lestrade groaned.

"I'm never trusting that bastard again, for as long as I live." He said into the air. His phone pinged.

**Wise choice -MH**

Lestrade sighed; then chuckled a bit.

"I take it I'm being watched."

**Always -MH**

Lestrade felt on odd mixture of warmth and the creeps at being observed like this.

**A car will be by shortly, I suggest you get in. We have business to discuss. -MH**


	13. The Art of Seduction

"John!" Sherlock shouted bursting into the flat at seven in the morning. "Ah! There you are. Good. Lestrade said you need romancing. Wine and dine. Right. Let's get a move on." John groaned from the sofa, he had only just fallen asleep not long ago. His eyes were blood shot and his hair was dishevelled. He had dressed in jeans and his corded jumper, likely he had been out looking for Sherlock at one point in the early morning and had recently given up on his search for some much needed rest.

"No! Sleep..." John grunted and turned his back to Sherlock.

"Romance John! Your favourite. Come on, up you go." Sherlock bent over and flung John's legs off the sofa and hoisted him up around the waist.

"Sherlock nooo." John whined.

"How will I ever get you in bed if you won't let me romance you?"

"Unh, I just want to sleep in bed." Sherlock dragged John's unwilling body to the front door. He propped him up against the door while he went for John's coat. John swayed back and forth. He closed his eyes and fell back against the door. John fell asleep standing, his knees buckled.

"John! Wake up!" Sherlock said giving him a gentle few slaps on the side of his face. "Wait here." Sherlock decided he should be better dressed for their little date. He ran to his bedroom and went through his wardrobe quickly. He noted his purple shirt's absence.

"Arg the woman." Sherlock grunted. He grabbed the rouge button down instead. "Conveys passion, lust." Sherlock stripped from Lestrade's borrowed clothing and kicked off his trainers. He looked into the mirror and held the shirt against him. "Hm" he hummed. "No. This will never do." Sherlock searched once more. "Why did she have to take the purple shirt?" Sherlock growled. Of course the one shirt missing would have been perfect for an outing with John.

_What would John like to see me in? Putting myself into his mind set... Anything. He would like to see me in anything. He doesn't notice clothing, he's hardly even homosexual. What was I thinking!_

Jeans, silver/blue button down, black blazer. Done and done. Sherlock looked himself over.

_Brilliant._

He grabbed a pair of trouser socks and his shoes and made his way back into the living space.

"John!" He shouted. John had sunk to the floor and was fast asleep with his back against the door. Sherlock slid on his socks and shoes. He huffed an aggravated sigh. He walked over to John and hoisted him up once more. John fell forward on to Sherlock and buried his face on to his chest. John moaned.

"Five more minutes."

"No, we'll be late."

"I don't want to go to school." John groaned.

"Good, because we're going to Angelo's"

John's eyes shot open. "Fuck, no." John was suddenly awake.

"Why not?"

"One, it's morning. B, he creeps the shit out of me. "

"God John, where'd you go to primary school?"

"Shut up. I'm staying. I'm exhausted. I'm not in the mood."

"You're going, it's final." Sherlock helped John's arms into his coat and pulled it on to his shoulders. He turned him around, opened the door, and shoved John on to the landing.

"Where you two off to at this hour?" Mrs. Hudson asked from the bottom of the stairs.

"Romance Mrs. Hudson! You wouldn't understand!" Sherlock said helping John stumbled down the flight of stairs.

"Unh, kill me please" John groaned to Mrs. Hudson.

"Sherlock, what are you doing to your poor John?" Mrs. Hudson complained. "He should be in bed the poor dear."

"I'm trying to get him to go to bed with me. Can't you see?" Sherlock and John made it to the bottom of the stairs. John groaned and let his head hit the wall as Sherlock opened the front door. Sherlock grabbed John by the shoulders and lead him out to the street. A cab was waiting for them outside. Mrs. Hudson shook her head sorrowfully at the sight of Sherlock shoving poor Dr. Watson into a cab at seven in the morning.

"Romance... the nerve of Sherlock." Mrs. Hudson turned and retreated to her flat.

* * *

"John wake up, we're here." John rolled his head to one side and wiped the drool from the corner of his mouth.

"Unh, where are we?" They were obviously not at Angelo's. In fact, they were no longer in London. John looked down at his wrist watch. "It's near ten. Where are we?"

"Dorset."

"Fuck, I thought we were going to Angelo's."

"Change of plans."

"Yeah but-"

"You needed sleep and I thought... walk on the beach... more romantic..." Sherlock said shyly.

"So you drag me out to fucking Bournemouth? It's... it's below freezing out, why would I want to take a walk on the beach?"

"It is well above freezing mind you and it's romantic, so shut up." Sherlock sneered.

"Hostility and kidnapping does not make anything romantic." John sighed. "Why are you romancing me anyhow?"

"Lestrade said you needed to be eased into the idea of sex, though I don't see why seeing as we have been at it plenty of times. You should be well warmed up to it by now."

John let his jaw go slack. "You know... You aren't supposed to reveal your master plan before it was put into play."

"I wanted you to know my intentions so there wasn't a lack of clarity."

"You just want to shag?"

"Yes." Sherlock looked into John's eyes "Problem?"

"Um yeah" John smacked his lips together. "You tried to rape me multiple times last night while you were strung out on drugs, left to go shag Lestrade, then took his ridiculous advice to kidnap me and drag me to a beach near the end of winter."

"He said wine and dine... However it's too early for wine and I already had breakfast."

"Great, your fuck buddy make it for you?"

"No, he took me out for breakfast."

"Hope he was good" John crossed his arms and huffed out a sigh. He turned to look out the window.

"No, John." John glared at him. "I mean, we didn't have sex. He consulted me... We consulted each other."

"With tongues?" John jeered.

"No! We were both fully dressed... well he was... I was mostly." John looked out the window once more. "He's getting back together with Mycroft as we speak." Sherlock shuddered at the thought.

"You were a prick last night."

"I was drugged!"

"Yeah, well you were still a prick" John slumped down in his seat.

"I'm making it up to you."

"You're just trying to get me to sleep with you."

"That too." John held back a laugh. "John, let me show you I'm not non-romantic or anti-romantic. Just this once, then never again."

"Promise?" John looked over into Sherlock's doe eyes.

"Yes."

John sat up and extended his hand. "Shake on it."

Sherlock begrudgingly shook John's hand. "What if you enjoy it?" Sherlock asked innocently.

"I won't." John crossed his legs.

"Grumpy old man." Sherlock chuckled.

"Could've been at home with a cuppa, watching the match. Instead I'm out with the deranged boyfriend... thing."

"Boyfriend?" Sherlock frowned. "We're... men... not some pre-pubescent couple."

John looked side to side. "Manfriend?"

"Prefer partner..."

"Yeah, me too." John sighed. "Puts us on equal playing fields."

"Though you're still my bitch." Sherlock said simply.

"Wow, Mr. Romance." John uncrossed his legs and kicked Sherlock in the shin. Sherlock winced. "Bitch. What a terrible word. It demeans women."

"Feminist." Sherlock snickered. "Then again, most repressed house-wives turn feminist given time. Start burning their bras."

"I'm not a repressed house wife!"

"Right, because I treat you so well" Sherlock tousled John's hair. "I just love to show you off in public, get you out of that repressive kitchen"

"You never take me anywhere that isn't case related and you do not love showing me off! We've only kissed in public once and it was a chaste kiss."

"Still traumatized the entire café. I'd say it was effective enough." John glared at him. "Fine! I'll have my way with you at King's Cross. PA enough for you?"

"I'm just saying. We don't... I don't even want to be like that in public. We keep our private life private, as it should be. While the yarders make comments behind our backs, they have no idea what goes on behind closed doors."

"We should turn around and go home then? Keep everything between us a secret?" John looked into Sherlock's eyes for a sign he was hurt. Sherlock appeared to be fine. He wanted whatever John wanted for once.

"No... might as well have our promenade on the beach." John sighed.

"What's wrong with the beach?"

"Nothing..." John turned away from Sherlock.

"You had an experience at a beach that makes you uncomfortable... I should have known. Will you be ok? You won't have an episode will you?" Sherlock looked at John with concern.

"How... how could you possibly know I had a traumatic experience at a beach?"

"At the mention of our location your pupils dilated in terror, you mentioned that you would rather be in the company of a man who you admitted ‘crept the shit out of you’ instead of taking a walk on a beach. Sorry." Sherlock looked down into his hands.

"Don't... don't start apologising." John blew a stream of air up his nose. "It wasn't that traumatic and it was hardly a beach. It was at a lake. During a training exercise... some fishers didn't clear the water and... yeah I had to clean up the mess. I really... I'm fine."

"You can't go near a beach without imagining dead bodies washing ashore."

"Yep..." John said emphasizing the 'p' with a pop.

"Want to... do something else? Grab a bite to eat?"

"You hungry?" John looked intently at Sherlock.

"No... actually..."

"Yeah well, I don't want to eat in front of you. You know... this being a proper date and all."

"Yeah... want to get drunk and feel me up in the park?"

"Erm... no." John wondered if Sherlock thought that was a serious option.

"Cinema?"

"Nah." John shrugged.

"Shag in the back of a cab?"

"Now you're being ridiculous. Let's walk around the shops until we're hungry."

They came up to a good district and the cabbie let them out. John cringed when he thought of how much their fare was and stepped out before he could see how much Sherlock was shelling out. Sherlock climbed out and reached for John's hand. John shoved his hands into his coat pockets and started walking. Sherlock felt dejected.

"John!" He shouted catching up. "Come on. Nobody knows us."

"Fuck buddies don't hold hands, no exceptions." John huffed. Sherlock pushed him off the kerb and John giggled. He hopped back on the walk way and sped up to annoy Sherlock. They passed a few shops, nothing interesting. Then Sherlock stopped dead in his tracks.

"John! This one. They have... _things!"_

John stopped and turned on his heels. "A curiosity shop? Oh God... you've spotted something... We're not taking home another skull are we?"

"I just want to pop in, have a look around." Sherlock was beaming with excitement. This was rare form for Sherlock in public. John thought he might as well have a look. As long as Sherlock didn't purchase anything incredibly large or expensive.

"Fine! We'll go in, but whatever you have your eye on has to be carried around the rest of the day, keep that in mind." Sherlock nodded and opened the door for John. "Oh, so now you're a gentleman."

John rolled his eyes. Sherlock gave John a swift slap on the ass as John entered the store. "Oi!" John turned around and stuck a finger into Sherlock's chest. "I don't fancy your sexual harassment." Sherlock giggled and looked up at the ceiling.

"My, it's beautiful in here." The ceiling was adorned with all sorts of hanging model aeroplanes and Zeppelins, cast model shrunken heads, dried herbs, and anything that wouldn't fit on the cluttered shelves that lined the walls. Not an inch of space was wasted.

John took in a breath. It smelled like his old senile Aunt's place he used to visit when he was a child. She had a taxidermy mongoose that sat on her coffee table. It had, in its mouth, a taxidermy cobra, in death they were still battling it out. John wasn't fond of his aunt and was especially terrified of her choice of décor.

Sherlock couldn't hold back his excitement for all the knick-knacks and imagined the fun he could have with so many medical curiosities.

"Look! Another mummified hand. I just had the solitary finger." He turned and glared at John. "Which you threw away with the sugar."

"You said it was preserved in arsenic!"

"Yes... and the quantity that defused into the sugar over the course of two days was not yet lethal enough for a man of your size."

"I wasn't about to take my chances!" John shouted. The store clerk appeared from the back and looked excitedly at the prospect of doing business with the weirdo in the trench coat and his little friend. He could gather that the two were going to walk away with something interesting today.

"Ah! What draws you in today?" The clerk said with his arms outreached, motioning to all his merchandise. John looked at the nutter, he was dressed in a long dress like shirt and had on coke bottle glasses. Around his neck were mismatched large beaded necklaces and a necklace that appeared to be made up of teeth, possibly human. His hair was grey and balding with a terrible comb over. He had the most fascinating tattoo of his face... on his face. John stared at the man's cheek and noticed that the tattoo of his face had a tattoo of its face on...

"Boo!" The clerk jumped forward at John who stumbled backwards. Sherlock laughed. "I see you appreciate my art work! Did it myself." The clerk ran a hand down his cheek, stroking his tattoo faces.

"How... in the hell? It's brilliant." John said staring once more.

"I'm glad you appreciate it. Most people write me off as a nutter and that's that. Now..." The clerk slapped his hands together. "Do tell. What was it that brought you in?" Sherlock pointed to the back of the store at a rather larger display.

"That." Sherlock said greedily. John looked up.

"No." John said shortly.

"But... But John! It's a whale vertebrae! A full, intact, whale vertebrae!"

"A blue whale vertebrae" The clerk pointed out. "I have a rib as well, there against the wall. Bout six foot, from a baby."

"What about a rib, John?" The clerk brought it over and stood it next to John making him feeling tiny.

"No... and what's with your sudden fascination with whales?"

"It's... look at it! It's just... Huh, it's cool." Sherlock let out a throaty laugh.

"Is this how you get when you go shopping?"

"Only when there's interesting things abound, John. Look around! They have plenty of things that would be perfect for the flat."

"We don't need any more _things_." Sherlock began to pout. "Fine! But you get one thing and it has to be small, non-lethal, and can't end up in my sock drawer."

"Our sock drawer, John." Sherlock winked. He went on a wild hunt for the perfect token. The clerk looked at John with interest.

"He your-"

"Yes... yes he is." John said looking away. John sighed and decided to join in the hunt. He passed by the taxidermy and saw his familiar friend, minus the cobra. "You again..." John muttered. The mongoose's glass eyes gave John a cold chill up his spine. He turned away and blinked. He saw Sherlock ogling over a glass case with syringes and bone-saws.

"No!" John shouted across the store.

"I can at least look." Sherlock was starting to get testy. He was itching to find something to add to his collection of oddities. He caught a glint of something and his eyes were drawn to it immediately. "This." Sherlock said pointing to the item behind glass. The clerk knew exactly what Sherlock was looking at; he clapped his hands together excitedly.

"Of course! I should have known!" He waddled back to the glass display case and opened it. He handed Sherlock his treasure.

"Name your price." Sherlock said still looking over the tan slab.

"It will set you back I'm afraid-"

"The price." Sherlock looked fiercely into the man's eyes.

"Seven grand." The man said licking his lips.

"I'll take it."

"Whoa! Whoa!" John came running over to view what Sherlock could possibly be willing to drop several thousand pounds on. "It's a fossil... a bat fossil." Sherlock ran his fingers across the contorted bat set in stone. It looked positively demonic, its jaw was open in an eternal scream. It was a full skeleton in beautiful detail. Sherlock couldn't imagine parting with it. He didn't even bother looking at John. "We can hardly make rent, why would you think we could afford..." Sherlock continued to stroke the bat's calcified skeleton. "Right, you're not getting a birthday or Christmas present from me for the next twenty years." John pulled out his pocket book. Sherlock snapped his attention to John. He was in shock.

"What?" Sherlock expected a giant fight about finances and John storming out. Why was he giving in so easy? "No. No. John wait." Sherlock fished out his own pocket book. "I'll take care of this." He pulled out a credit card and John glanced at the name. _Mycroft Holmes._ John bit back a smile.

"Cheeky bastard." Sherlock grinned and handed the card over to the clerk. The clerk smiled brightly.

"ID?" He asked.

"Of course." Sherlock grinned from ear to ear producing his brother's ID as well. The clerk nodded and rang him up. John shook his head as Sherlock signed the receipt with little hearts instead of 'o's. The clerk packaged the fossil in a nice box and placed it in a bag. Sherlock grabbed the bag and gave the clerk a nod. He turned and offered John his arm. John shook his head once more and linked arms with Sherlock and left with a sense of pride, cheating Mycroft out of seven grand.

John pushed into Sherlock as he started laughing uncontrollably. Sherlock stumbled to the side and he too couldn't help but giggle like a school-girl.

"So this entire date is on Mycroft?" John laughed.

"Of course! Brother-dear will be ever so happy seeing our little adventure on his bill. Come on, it has a fifty k limit. Anywhere you want. My treat." He nuzzled his nose into John's neck. John gasped and let go of Sherlock's arm. Sherlock tumbled back and barely caught himself.

"Sorry! I was... I was... caught off guard." John stammered. He blushed and had to turn away.

"Not ready for the world to see the real you?" Sherlock offered.

"Ha, ha. Funny. No it's more you."

"I thought you liked me?" Sherlock gave him a fake pout.

"No... It's just so unlike you to be clinging on to me in public. I like... I like the way things are at home."

"Are you embarrassed to be seen with me?" Sherlock looked at John with concern.

"Do... do you even listen? Of course not!" John let out an aggravated sigh. "It's when you act all... un-Sherlock you creep me out... boy that sounded weird." John looked at Sherlock. "You creep me out no matter what... I just don't want you... acting."

"Acting?"

"You know... When you manipulate people when we're on a case, just to get what you want. You well up some tears or pretend to be flirting with them, so they do whatever you please. God... I just don't want to be one of them. The way you regard them. Like they're the lowest life forms. Like they're puppets and you're the one holding the strings." John looked down at the ground. "I just don't like being toyed with." John looked into Sherlock's eyes. "You know, when you're cold and distant I feel closer to you... I just want to know you're not faking your emotions."

"You don't want me to be happy?"

John rolled his eyes. "I don't want you faking it."

"I'm not! This is a blast. Why do you have to go doubting a good time?"

"I-"

"Trust issues." Sherlock wrote down on his imaginary notepad. "Also... highly repressed homosexual tendencies." John punched Sherlock in the arm. "Ah, aggressive as well."

"That bat is staying in the living area."

"I was going to place it right above the bed so it looks down at you while you sleep." Sherlock grinned.

"That thing is creepy. It's all disfigured."

"Your just jealous."

"Of a contorted bat?"

"Yes... she's caught my eye and you are envious of her beauty."

"She? What makes you think-"

"The sub-pubic angle is ninety degrees."

"Well... there you go." John turned to walk away in defeat.

"You want to buy something as well?" Sherlock said catching up to John.

"I don't need any trinkets."

"You could buy a car." Sherlock shrugged.

"Your brother is going to kick your ass when he sees that you stole his credit card. He might smash your bat into a million pieces like Irene..." John stopped.

"Like her phone?"

"You know... While we're out having a bloody good time, she's out there searching for a way to destroy us."

"She is not-"

"Vindictive? Evil? A sex crazed sadist?" John looked at Sherlock "She wants you bad Sherlock and you're too blind to notice." Sherlock grabbed John's forearm.

"She isn't what you think she is."

"You don't even know what she is!" John shouted. "You can't make heads or tails of her! You've said so yourself. What's to say she's not finding a way to bring us to ruin and playing it off as if she's just trying to save her own hide." John was turning red in the face from anger. "She's just protecting herself! Protecting herself from what? She's the one putting herself in this damned mess. If she wouldn't stick her bony nose in everyone's personal lives she wouldn't need any damned protection." John let out a sigh "I liked it better when she was dead."

"What about when I was dead?" Sherlock asked.

"Fuck you." John turned and walked away. Sherlock caught up once more. John's short deliberate stride was no match for Sherlock's long lanky steps.

"I'm trying to turn the conversation back on to me. This is our day together. Leave the skeleton whore out of this." John stopped and turned toward Sherlock.

"Hey... you've never called her that before." John looked at Sherlock scanning his face.

"Well... She did drug me and got me in trouble with you."

"You did that all yourself." John said sighing.

"Yes... but I'm making it up to you. Romance?" Sherlock offered.

"You hungry?" John looked Sherlock over considering Sherlock's offer for romance.

"Erm... are you?" Sherlock looked at John with the same analysing look.

"I asked you. I'm not having lunch unless you're eating as well."

"Fine. I am hungry if you are."

"Fish n chips?" John shrugged.

"Caviare and lobster?" Sherlock countered, pulling out and shaking his pocket book for John to see.

"Let's buy a house in Winchester and hire a cook to make us rare Russian delicacies."

"Hm. A bit out of budget."

"Indeed."

"Indeed." Sherlock echoed. "Fish n chips it is then."

"Maybe a draft beer as well."

"Ooh a big spender. Might break the bank."

"Might get two beers."

"Why stop at two?"

"You'd get me drunk and have your way with me in some dark alley."

"You know me all too well, Dr. Watson."

"Indeed" John chuckled. They finally came upon a pub and stumbled in. It was quite dark and they let their eyes adjust to the surroundings.

"Match is on." John said pointing to the telly.

"Fuck football."

"It's rugby."

"Fuck rugby" Sherlock corrected himself. "Who's playing?" Sherlock tried.

"Fuck if I know, don't follow it too close."

"Yet you would set in front of the telly for hours watching mindlessly."

"Yep!" John said taking a seat at an empty booth. The bar tender gave them a nod. Sherlock placed his bag on to the bench and went to sit. "Go order."

"No... you go order." Sherlock said giving the bar tender a sour look.

"Sherlock... If it weren't for me you'd live in a hole in the ground and would eat mud."

"I would not eat _mud._ " Sherlock sneered.

"Right! You wouldn't eat anything if I weren't here to remind you." John stood and went to place their order. He came back with two stout beers and placed one in front of Sherlock.

"Gross... stout." Sherlock grimaced at the dark beer set before him.

"What, you'd prefer something with a little fruit in it?"

"Yes actually." Sherlock pushed the beer toward John.

"Gay." John spat.

"Problem?"

"None at all. You cock-sucker." John giggled into his beverage. "What? Have I offended the Holmo?" John looked at Sherlock who was clenching his jaw. "It's a joke, lighten up." Sherlock leaned back in his seat. John put down his pint. "Yeah... I get it. It's not a joke." John sighed. "Words... they hurt sometimes. Even when we don't intend them to." Sherlock looked down at the table and shrugged his shoulders. "How long have you... you know... been gay?"

"You still skirt around the word like it's a sin to speak it out loud."

"Yeah well... just the way I was raised I suppose."

"Even with a lesbian sister?"

"Especially with one. She got all sorts of shit from everybody in school. Would scare anyone into the closet."

"Or the liquor cabinet."

"Sherlock, what did I say about being sensitive?"

"Don't know. Wasn't listening." Sherlock placed his elbows on the table and placed his head on his hands.

"You never do." John sighed. "You didn't even answer my question."

"Which one?"

"When'd you find out you liked men instead of women?"

"When you first kissed me."

"Really?" John furrowed his brows. "I thought... well maybe there was someone that-"

"John" Sherlock grabbed John's hand and laced his fingers in his. John got the message. He understood completely. John hadn't been into men either before Sherlock. He still wasn't into men. There was only Sherlock. John rubbed his thumb on the back of Sherlock's hand and let go when he saw the bar tender looking over.

"S'all right. Jus don't be hookin up in the loo." The bar tender turned his back to them and John chuckled and grabbed Sherlock's hand once more and sighed.

"This is nice."

"Would be nicer if I was buggering you over the table."

"Moment... ruined..." John let go of Sherlock's hand and took a swig of his beer. "Weren't you supposed to be romantic?"

"You didn't want me faking it." Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "You prefer me cold and distant."

"I do not."

"Your precise words."

"I'd prefer you under me, hot and close to coming."

"Good God John, the filth coming out of your mouth."

"Nothing compared to what will be coming out of yours later." John tried to keep his voice down as he simulated the experience "Oh, yeah, John, John, John, fuck, right there, fuck, fuck me harder John."

Sherlock growled. "I've never-"

"Not yet." John licked his top lip. Their fish n chips were ready at the bar. "I'll get those, love, you rest your pretty little ass." Sherlock shook his head.

_I've created a monster._

John slid Sherlock's basket towards him. Sherlock shoved it away.

"You said you'd eat!"

"The whole day is for naught" Sherlock let out a heavy sigh and lay his head down on the table.

"What is it?" John said reaching over to pet at Sherlock's head. Sherlock brushed his hand away.

"We're going to go home and you're going to have sex with me."

"It's what you wanted." John said taking a bite out of his fish. He pushed the malt vinegar over to Sherlock. Sherlock went to knock the bottle over. John caught it in the knick of time.

"Come on, eat." John pleaded.

"I wanted top" Sherlock grumbled.

"You can if you want."

Sherlock looked up at John. "Really?"

"Yeah... we'll just switch off." John suggested.

"Never... done that before" Sherlock thought to himself a moment.

_Why hadn't I thought of that before? It's perfectly logical. Hm. Would require some work and restraint. Never again will I come prematurely. Especially not tonight. After all this fighting and drama. God I want a shag. What have I become?_

"Why do you make me feel so animalistic?" Sherlock didn't realize he had asked out loud until John looked at him with concern.

"I... I'm not sure what you mean." John put down his food a moment.

"You cause me to rut against you and make such... inexcusable noises... I can't control myself any more. Even my mind is slipping." Sherlock sighed and took a bite of food. John held back a grin seeing Sherlock eat something.

"Well I don't do it intentionally."

"Yes you do. You flaunt your... sex... all over the place." John looked down at himself. He hardly thought himself sexy. Girls for the most part thought he was more adorable and trustworthy; it was the only way to get them into bed. He was the rebound king for failed relationships. He wondered a moment. Who rebounded all of his failed relationships? The rebound king's rebound king... like the oddity shop's clerk with the face on his face. John stared off into the distance in wonder.

Sherlock looked at John's thousand yard stare.

_He's thinking about something mundane and unrelated. Likely the shop keeper's tattoo has him perplexed. Simple mind. Fooled by an optical illusion._

"I'm not some red assed baboon." John said coming out of his daze. He shook the tattoo image out of his mind.

"Never said you were"

"You implied I whore it up wherever I go." John finished off his first beer and moved on to Sherlock's discarded pint. "I'm not trying to attract attention to myself. Not like you. Dolce and Gabbana?"

"You know she took the purple one." Sherlock looked at John with a mournful face.

"Least it wasn't your coat."

"Oh... I would have killed..."

"She did once, remember."

"I'm not getting that shirt back. I can feel it."

"Using intuition are we?" John clicked his tongue disapprovingly. "What is it about that shirt anyhow?"

"I like it."

"Obviously. Why?"

"I like the way you look at me when I’m wearing it." Sherlock turned away.

"Yeah, because the buttons are straining. You should fire your tailor. You're as thin as a ghost and yet your clothes are too tight."

"You should get a tailor, your trousers are too long."

"Yeah. Because they make em for either giants or hobbits."

"What's a hobbit?"

"It's from this book... series of books. They're short human like creatures that live in burrows and have furry feet. They eat a lot and get dragged on unexpected and unwanted adventures by wizards and such."

"Hm." Sherlock smiled.

"I'm not a fucking hobbit."

"You sure?" Sherlock snorted. John let out a heavy sigh as Sherlock started poking at his fried fish.

"Sherlock, this was nice. We should steal down here more often. It's a good reset. This whole Irene Adler thing has got me all worked up. It's good to get away from London and be able to think clearly for once."

"Yes. Where no one knows us, so their judgement doesn't matter." Sherlock sighed. John looked confused.

"You think all of London should know that we are a _we_?"

"No but you should really stop caring what other people think because they will believe what they want to believe."

"I just don't want anyone treating you any different... any _worse..._ just because we're together or whatever."

"Or whatever?"

"We've always been together. I'm talking about together together."

"Intercourse?"

"Intercourse" John affirmed.

"Want to head back and get together together?" Sherlock suggested, stretching.

"Yeah sure. We'll do it in plain view of all of Scotland Yard to confirm their suspicions we've been having sex this entire time."

"Unh, can we just do it at the flat? I want to sleep after." Sherlock yawned.

"Why don't you take a nap in the cab on the way back?" John took a look at his wristwatch "We've only been out two hours. Feels like we've been... What?" Sherlock grabbed John's wrist and took a look at John's watch intently.

"Together your outfit, minus the haversack shooting jacket is worth in the area of one hundred pounds. Why... would you have a Tag Heuer wristwatch worth roughly thirty times the price of your clothing?"

"The bigger question, is why you care?" John grabbed at Sherlock's wrist and turned it towards him. "Moreover, why do you wear a watch worth one thirtieth of your clothes worth?"

"Rotary, simple, understated. The clothes make the man. Nobody's first impression is based on his wristwatch. Nobody's... except maybe mine."

"It's water resistant down to thirty metres."

"Useful, if you weren't afraid of large bodies of water."

"I'm not afraid of water." John scoffed.

"Prove it."

"Walk on the beach?"

"Let's."


	14. Pain Hurts

John shivered in the back seat of the cab, he was soaked from head to toe.

"You didn't have to push me in." John's teeth clattered.

"Your wristwatch still works."

"Well bless, it wasn't falsely advertised."

"You only went under three metres, tops." Sherlock sighed.

"Fuck, if I weren't traumatized by the water before, I am now." Sherlock wrapped an arm around John and John frowned at his flatmate's feeble attempt to warm him up. "Pushing me off the pier, you dick."

_He speaks as if I pushed him off a ten story building on to solid concrete. It was a mere fifteen foot drop. Not even close to an Olympic high dive._

"You had good form."

"Red cross certified..." John slumped down in his seat. "Doesn't matter, you _pushed_ me." John growled and shoved Sherlock's arm off his shoulder.

"I merely nudged you."

"Who shoves their partner into a large body of water for calling him a girl?"

"I do."

"I've called you a girl loads of times!"

_Has he?_

"Yeah, well you were never near a large body of water before." Sherlock huffed and crossed his arms. "I'm not a girl." He mumbled.

"You so are." Sherlock scowled at him. "I'm only joking! Can't you take a joke?"

_A joke, yes. Twenty plus years of 'jokes'..._

"No."

"Obviously." John looked at Sherlock. "Just so you know the water was absolutely frigid." The corner of Sherlock's mouth twitched into a grin. "You have no remorse. Psycho."

" _Sorry"_ Sherlock sneered.

_Sorry you're an insensitive child._

"Yeah, you will be." Sherlock looked at John with a sad look.

"No sex?"

"None. I'm withholding for at least two weeks."

_You couldn't abstain two days._

"That's completely asinine." Sherlock groaned.

"You can't expect to get off scot free. My arse is frozen and my dick most definitely went into hiding."

"You were the one bullying me."

"I-I was not! I was poking fun and you decided it was a great idea to throw me off the dock." Sherlock leaned his head against the door.

_In retrospect, not my greatest plan._

John sighed. "All right, I hit a nerve with you. I'm sorry." John couldn't believe he was apologising to the lunatic. "What is it about being called a girl that gets under your skin so much?"

"I'm not one."

"You get all touchy and pissy when I mention your feminine behaviour."

"I am not _feminine._ " Sherlock hissed.

"You've got some serious issues with the female gender." John grabbed Sherlock's hand. "How about no more gender stereotyping then?" Sherlock nodded in agreement. "You're still a bitch for pushing me off the pier." John smiled and Sherlock pulled his hand away.

"Will you just drop it already?"

"I'm still thawing." John leaned against Sherlock's shoulder. Sherlock drew his arm around John once more. John went in for a kiss and Sherlock pulled away. "You can't just make this easy can you?"

"What do you mean?"

"You still pull away when I try kiss you. Get all huffy when you aren't on top. Say you don't fancy foreplay, when you most certainly do. I just don't understand." John looked up at Sherlock. "Do you always have to assert your dominance?"

"Yes." Sherlock brushed John's lips with his thumb.

"You know that's not how this works. We're partners, though you'd like to think we're not on level playing fields, we are. I have needs, you have needs-"

"I don't _need_ anything."

"Oh shut up, you need me as much as you need food, water, and oxygen." Sherlock brought John in close. "You also need a swift kick in the ass." Sherlock snorted.

"Need." Sherlock scoffed.

"If it wasn't for me-"

"Hole in the ground, eating mud. I got it."

"Worse! You'd be dead in a ditch somewhere. You can never imagine how much I do for you."

_Yet, you never seem to mention all the things I do for you._

"I got along fine without you before."

"You were fucking miserable, admit it."

Sherlock sighed, John took it as a confirmation. "You and your sense of self-worth. Unrealistic."

"You'd crumble if I left you."

"Well... of course... but it's different now."

"Why now?"

"Because we're..."

"Yeah?" John leaded.

"Shagging."

"So romantic." John drew Sherlock closer, closing the gap.

_Note to self: never let on that Lestrade was right on this whole 'romance' business._

"Who's first?" Sherlock said kissing the top of John's head.

"What?" John said looking up.

"Who gets top first?" Sherlock asked innocently.

"I don't know... me?" John offered.

"Scissors-paper-"

"No!" John cut him off. "You always win."

_You always pick stone._

"So I top first then."

"No, that's not fair."

"All is fair in love and-"

"Shut the fuck up."

"No. No. Don't remember the saying 'All is fair in love and shut the fuck up'." Sherlock grinned. "Love and war, John."

"Our _love_ is war."

"Exactly. One round then. I'll go easy on you."

"No... You can't, you'll just use your Jedi mind tricks and kick my ass."

_Film reference?_

"Jedi?"

"You really need to see Star Wars. It's such a good-"

"Six films and you said half were shit."

"Yeah... Still have to watch them."

"I'll add it to the list."

_Lord of the Rings, nine to eleven hours depending on the version. Harry Potter, twenty hours. These Star Wars possibly even longer. Extended scenes, gag reals, deleted scenes, director commentaries, a complete waste of time. Time that could be spent doing other more important things, like having mind numbing sex._

"There's a seventh coming out."

"Unh." Sherlock groaned. "I'm not in the mood to catch up with popular culture."

"You're never in the mood and you could never catch up... You're too far behind." John chuckled. "Bout two-hundred years behind, you only just picked up Oscar Wilde."

"One-hundred thirty years behind." Sherlock corrected.

"Did you get through that Poe book I got you?"

"Mostly."

"You cracked open the cover?"

"I skimmed it."

"The titles?"

"Yeah..." Sherlock admitted sheepishly.

"You are so attention deficit, it isn't even funny. You read that 'Applied Mycology of floosy-something-another-'."

" _Fusarium."_

"Yeah, well you read that cover to cover and twice over."

"They are incredibly important biodeteriogens. The pathophysiology-"

"So _BORING._ " John groaned.

"Sorry my taste in literature isn't as refined as yours. At least I don't read _children's_ books."

"Harry Potter, isn't just for children."

"Yeah... It is." Sherlock went to remove his arm. John held him tight.

"You just have no imagination."

"I'm plenty imaginative. Don't need to waste my life away with a poor excuse for literature."

"It's a good series... til she started killing everyone off... that was a bitch move."

"I thought we weren't gender stereotyping."

"I didn't say _she_ was a bitch. Just her way of killing off half the characters, it was 'not nice'."

"Why should you care, they're fictional?" Sherlock laughed. "You even get emotionally attached to people that don't exist. You sod."

"Emotionally attached? I'm not emotionally attached..."

"You were all tears when your favourite Snake character died."

"Did not..." John didn't bother correcting Sherlock. He didn't cry while reading it, he cried in the cinema thank you very much. Alan Rickman is his favourite. Mm who knew a detached voice could be so utterly drool worthy? He didn't fancy Alan Rickman as a person, just the voice. His voice was eerily similar to Sherlock's. Sherlock could probably do a spot on impersonation, if only he knew who Alan Rickman was.

"We're nearing Baker Street. Have you decided to submit and make this easier for both of us?"

"How about we duke it out for dominance?" John suggested.

"With fists?"

"No you git. How about I beat you at your own game?"

"Baritsu?"

" _Bartitsu."_ John corrected.

"It is really best fought in suits."

"Sounds a bit kinky." John snorted.

"You were the one suggesting it." Sherlock frowned.

"I thought I could get a bit of my aggression out, beating you with a cane."

"Abusive." Sherlock muttered. "So after you'd bash my head in, you'd have your way with me?"

"I just thought I'd smack you around a bit; then I'd have my way with you."

"And you wonder why I seek to dominate."

"You act like I'd tie you to the bed and whip you." John sighed. "What we do is quite lovely... at least it is now."

"You're suggesting we add violence to the bedroom."

"I was joking! God. I don't want to beat you into submission."

"Sadist."

"I... I don't like pain... it hurts."

"Did you come to that brilliant conclusion all by yourself, dear Watson?"

"Yeah, I thought I'd publish it in a scholarly journal. 'Pain hurts' by Dr. John Watson M.D."

"It's a revolutionary thought. Could shake the foundations of modern society."

"Irene Adler might have to reconsider her career choice."

_Again, snaking her into our conversations. Perhaps John has a 'thing' for Miss Adler... Impossible..._

"Unh." Sherlock groaned. "Would you lay off her?"

"Would you lay on me?"

"Is that some attempt at being clever? If I've told you once, I've told you a thousand times, cleverness doesn't-" Sherlock was interrupted by John's lips crashing into his. John clasped on to both sides of Sherlock's face and held him tight against his lips. "eh does'n fuit ew." Sherlock mumbled into John's lips. John pulled back slightly.

"Shut up." He said running his tongue over Sherlock's lips. "Just for once in your life, shut the fuck up."

"Make me." Sherlock taunted. John growled and bit Sherlock's bottom lip and held it. "We're here'b" John let go of Sherlock's bottom lip and dragged him out of the cab which was parked in front of their flat. Sherlock paid the cabbie. He stumbled over the kerb as John lead him force-ably by the hand to the flat's entrance. "I thought, no exceptions, fuck buddies-" John simply growled at Sherlock.

"I'll take you right here if you don't pick up your pace." Sherlock thought a moment. "Sherlock!"

"I'm coming, dear God, do you have to wrench my arm out of its socket?"

_Mrs Hudson's left on an afternoon date... Not ten minutes ago. Near perfect timing. John won't have to stifle his noises... Not that he does anyway._

"What bout-" John asked dragging Sherlock through the threshold. John slammed the door shut behind them.

"She's with the widower, from cross the way. Rose water." Sherlock cringed. "Mrs Hudson has poor-" Sherlock was cut off again by John's tongue being thrust into his open mouth. "Fe as, ore aste en eau-"

"My God, Sherlock, shut up!" John said pulling away.

"You didn't let me fin-" John placed a hand on Sherlock's crotch and made him gasp. "Let me fi-EH-nnish. My unhhhh." Sherlock groaned as John palmed his rapidly growing erection. Sherlock started to pant and bite his bottom lip. "Are we... eh... on the lanDING?" Sherlock near squealed as John grabbed him a bit too tight and shoved him against the wall. Sherlock put his hands to John's chest and gave a half-hearted shove in attempt at prying him away.

"Just let me take you... It's been too long." John grunted as he started grinding into Sherlock's hip, allowing him to feel his clothed erection. "C'mon, you know you like it."

"I'm supposed to... first." Sherlock let out a high pitch whine as John latched on to his neck and started aggressively trying to leave a mark. Sherlock's whole body shook. "Stop it." Sherlock moaned with pleasure. The heat was becoming too intense from John grinding against him. "Unh, now." Sherlock grunted. John pulled away from Sherlock's neck.

"Right here?"

"Yes!" Sherlock near screamed.

"Fuck, we don't even-"

"I don't care! Take me!" Sherlock threw himself forward against John, trying to use every bit of his body weight to take him down to the ground. John took the obvious hint and brought them gently to the ground. Sherlock lay flat on his back and John mounted him. He rotated his hips teasingly, rubbing his clothed ass over Sherlock's bulge. Sherlock grimaced from the mix of pleasure and intense pain from being confined in his denim jeans.

"What you want?" John asked, licking his bottom lip.

"Fuck, sex." Sherlock's hands darted for John's fly. John grabbed Sherlock's hands and held them still.

"How you want it?" John raised an eyebrow.

"In the ass!" Sherlock whined and bucked his hips. "God, it hurts damn it." Sherlock's fingers twitched in John's hands. "Stop teasing!" John started moving his hips once more.

"What like this?" He revelled in Sherlock's frustration. "You gonna let me fuck you then?" John said, bringing himself to a still.

"God... Anything! Just... fuck..." Sherlock grimaced.

"You asked for it." John chuckled. John withdrew a semi-water logged bottle of lube out of his shooting jacket.

"You cunt." Sherlock growled.

"I take appropriate precautions, meh meh meh." John mocked. "Plus, I'd rather have you enjoying me fucking you into the floorboards. Might lemme do it more often." John said biting his bottom lip. He let go of Sherlock's hands and manoeuvred himself between Sherlock's legs, he made quick work of Sherlock's zip and tugged his jeans down his knees. Sherlock kicked off his shoes and slid his jeans off entirely.

John worked off his own trousers as well. Both men slid down their underwear and gave each other a quick glance.

_He's close already. Damn it, so am I._

John popped open the cap of the lube and lathered a healthy dose of lube on himself. He went to lubricate his fingers.

"Just fuck me already!" Sherlock threw his legs around John's torso and squeezed him tight. John gave him a look of uncertainty.

"You-"

"Yes! Yes I'm sure! Come on. Fuck me." Sherlock thrust his hips forward and John shivered with anticipation as he lined up with Sherlock's entrance. Sherlock moaned softly as John finally inserted himself slowly. John lifted Sherlock's hips and stood up on his knees, Sherlock arched his back perfectly. John started slow and deliberate thrusts. Sherlock clenched his eyes shut and thought of anything that would turn him off.

_Mycroft fucking Lestrade, Mycroft fucking Lestrade, Mycroft fucking cake._

Sherlock repeated his mantra over and over again in his head, trying to hold back from coming. John was agonizingly close and couldn't help but pick up the pace and bury himself deeper in Sherlock's tight ass. John was biting so hard on his bottom lip he could taste blood. He was grunting wildly with every thrust and could feel his knees start to shudder. Sherlock's hips were perfectly attuned to John's thrusts and met him with amazing precision.

Sherlock had to clench his eyes tighter and hold his breath to keep himself together. John stopped suddenly and sporadically searched for the lube. He reached out to the side and grasped it tightly as his hands shook. He popped the cap once more and drizzled it on to Sherlock's lower abdomen.

"John!" Sherlock shrieked.

_That bastard is going to set me over the edge!_

"I-I-I'ma ride y-you." John stuttered.

"Oh fuck, yes!" Sherlock moaned. He shuddered as John tried to gently caress the lube on to Sherlock's cock. "Careful." Sherlock whined. John pulled out and let Sherlock's hips drop. He straddled Sherlock's lap and Sherlock whimpered. John grabbed Sherlock's cock by the base and stood it up. He lowered himself gently on to it, shifting slightly as Sherlock's cock filled him.

Sherlock's eyes rolled back into his head. It took every bit of restraint to keep from coming as John took in his entire length. John placed his hands on Sherlock's chest and took in a deep breath. He skilfully rolled his hips forward and Sherlock's hands clasped on tight to John's hips, his nails digging in slightly. John winced. He began fluidly rocking his hips back and forth, sliding on Sherlock's cock with smooth precision.

Sherlock tried to keep himself together but his toes started curling, his cock ached, the small grunts and groans from John were overpowering his resolve. Even the mental image of his brother ravishing cake in the buff couldn't stop Sherlock now. He was seconds away from an earth shattering orgasm. A bead of sweat rolled down his brow. John was working his hips with fervour.

Without warning John stopped and withdrew his hands from Sherlock's chest, Sherlock shot up on to his elbows and dug his nails into the hardwood. John's ass tensed and spasmed as they came at the same time. Sherlock clenched his teeth and his hips bucked up without him commanding them to. He winced at the violent orgasm as stars flickered in his eyes. His breathing was ragged and he could barely open his eyes. Sweat dripped off his forehead.

Sherlock noticed John was in a state of euphoria, his arms hung loose to his sides, the colour had left his face. He swayed slightly and he threatened to topple over. Sherlock caught him and held him steady. John let out a throaty perverted laugh. Sherlock wrapped his arms around John and brought his face to John's chest. Sherlock's back and hamstrings strained slightly from the contortion, yet he refused to let go of John.

"My God... That was..."

"Unlikely."

John's eyes fluttered open. John couldn't help but grinning like a Cheshire cat. "What?" He asked, his eyes were half lidded and he was still swaying.

"Probability of us achieving orgasm at the exact same moment-"

"We're soul mates." John chuckled.

"We're a statistical improbability. Ever-"

"Nope." John said shaking his head. He lifted Sherlock's chin. "You trump girls, million to one."

"Actually, simultaneous orgasms are more of a thousand to one shot."

"Wanna have sex a thousand more times to test your theory?" John chuckled and kissed Sherlock softly.

"Given that the first and second outcomes are independent of one another and they in no way... Yeah... Let's have sex a thousand more times." Sherlock grinned drunkenly. He let go of John and placed his palms on the floor. He leaned back on his hands and looked over his smug flatmate. "Got some on your jacket." John looked down at his still damp shooting jacket and moaned at the sight of ejaculate on his favourite article of clothing.

"You mind licking that off for me?" He said leaning into Sherlock who giggled and tried to push him away. John let out a grunt as he dismounted Sherlock's cock completely. His hips shook as he walked on his knees to his trousers. "Sex keeps getting better and better." John smiled.

"By God, can it still get better?" Sherlock asked shocked. John snorted as he tried to pull on his pants while laying down, not yet trusting his legs to stand. He lifted his hips and groaned at how sore he was already.

"Sherlock, put your pants on, Mrs Hudson is due back any moment."

"Psh. Clothes." John fastened his trousers and rolled over on to his stomach. He brought himself to his hands and knees and crawled over to Sherlock. He pushed Sherlock over gently and lay him on his back once more.

"Put. Your. Clothes. On." John said in between brief kisses.

"Never." Sherlock clasped on to John's neck and drew him in close. He hummed against John's lips. "Mm... I love-" Sherlock stopped. John's eyes widened. Sherlock let go of John's neck and scrambled under him. He dashed for his jeans and frantically stumbled up the stairs. John sat back and started cackling. "Shut up! John Watson!" Sherlock screamed as he slammed the door to their upstairs flat.

John clutched his sides as he laughed deeply. Tears formed in the corner of his eyes. He had to scurry to avoid being hit by the door as Mrs Hudson swung it open. She looked down at John in concern.

"What's so funny then?" She furrowed her brow. Another rotten date. Widower, ha, his late wife was fortunate. Six feet under.

John breathed heavily and did his best to calm himself down. He sighed and wiped the tears from his eyes.

"Nothing." He chuckled. "Sherlock _loves_ me."

"Well, course he does... I hardly see the humour..."

"Yeah well... Romance, Mrs Hudson. You wouldn't understand." John snorted.

"Romance." Mrs Hudson scoffed.

_Sherlock Holmes and Dr Watson are about as romantic as a cheap porno. The NERVE!_


	15. Pretty Woman

"Don't you ever wear pants?"

Sherlock turned away from the front door to see Lestrade lounging on his sofa with his shoes kicked up on the arm rest.

"Ah... Lestrade." Sherlock was at a loss for words.

"See my advice worked." Lestrade grinned.

"Yes... well..." Sherlock turned away as he slid on his underwear and jeans. He hopped a little to slide them over his hips.

_Damned tight jeans._

He fastened his zip and turned to face Lestrade, less exposed.

_He most definitely visited Mycroft. Knees of his trousers are slightly scuffed. Tan wool carpet. Diogenes club, obviously there wasn't a need for verbal negotiations. Yet, Lestrade is disappointed. The hopeless romantic._

"How was your _date_?" Sherlock asked knowing full well Lestrade's answer. Lestrade looked away and stared at the wall. "Now, now, it musn't have been _that_ bad." Sherlock was referring to the state of Lestrade's knees.

"Yeah well." Lestrade reached into his pocket and pulled out a fifty pound note. Sherlock tilted his head and furrowed his brows in concern. "I sucked em off and he gave me fifty quid." Sherlock raised an eyebrow, he wasn't expecting that.

"Ah, so now you're my brother's prostitute?"

"Seems so." Lestrade smacked his lips and shoved the note back into his pocket. He reached for his packet of cigarettes. He flipped it open. "You mind?"

"Actually..." Sherlock started as Lestrade lit one up. Sherlock had to catch himself from stumbling forward. How he desperately wanted a drag. He clenched his teeth.

_Damn. John would kill me._

Sherlock furrowed his brow once more.

_Since when do I give a damn what John thinks? Since I started saying little post-coital 'I love you's._

"Erm... You have a spare?" Sherlock's lip twitched slightly as he started salivating.

"Sorry, Sher, still only come twenty to a pack." Lestrade smirked. Sherlock's right hand trembled. "Plus, wouldn't want you having a row with your boyfriend over a fag."

"John's not my... _boyfriend."_ Sherlock grimaced as Lestrade took a long drag. "You don't have to be a facetious twit because my brother wouldn't bugger you over his arm chair like old times."

"Yeah well, didn't want to anyhow." Lestrade stared at the ceiling. He tapped the ashes on the floor. Sherlock drew in a breath trying to get his fill of second-hand smoke. God he wanted to fill his lungs with carcinogenic delight straight from the source.

"Yes, well, tell me _all_ about it, but first." Sherlock walked hastily over to Lestrade and held out his palm. Lestrade scooted over to allow Sherlock to sit. Lestrade pulled out another smoke. He placed it between his lips and lit the end. He took in a deep drag before passing it off to Sherlock.

Sherlock accepted the cigarette gratefully and put it to his quivering lips. He drew in a deep draw and closed his eyes. His jaw shook as he exhaled. He fell back into the sofa.

"John's gonna beat the tar out of your lungs."

"I don't fucking care." Sherlock's heart was racing and he couldn't help himself as his entire body trembled. He felt a slight stir in his groin. It had been far too long since he’d had a smoke.

"Had yourself a good fuck?" Lestrade asked casually.

"You heard it for yourself, you tell me." Sherlock said lifting one eyebrow and looking over Lestrade.

"Sounded like a high end porno. Lucky the landlady didn't walk in on you two going at it."

"You're fortunate we couldn't find our way up the stairs."

"Yeah, I'm blessed." Lestrade flicked some ashes on to the arm of the sofa. Sherlock glared at him.

"Like I give a fuck."

"Whore." Sherlock sneered.

"Yeah." Lestrade sighed. He fell back into the sofa. "You know, he's never let me... do that thing you know?"

"Repulsive."

"He wore a rubber." Sherlock rolled his head toward Lestrade and gave him an odd look. "Yeah, I know. First time he did that thing to me he placed one on me and I was like 'the fuck?' Thought it'd be like, you know, havin' a foot massage with your shoes on." Lestrade took in a long drag and exhaled. "It's fuckin amazing."

"So my brother _allowed_ you to satisfy him orally?"

"Yeah... He don't fancy no one dominating his posh arse." Sherlock snickered. "Had him climbing up the fuckin wall like he was some bird getting’ eaten out for the first time." Sherlock grimaced at the image. Lestrade rolled his eyes. "Another?" Lestrade put out his own cigarette and pulled out his packet. Sherlock nodded with a small amount of desperation in his eyes. Sherlock put out his first cigarette on the coffee table. "Chain smoking with Sherlock Holmes." Lestrade tutted as he placed another fag in his mouth, this time on his tongue. He lit it and took in a greedy drag.

Sherlock licked his bottom lip. Lestrade gave him a sinister look.

"John's got you by the balls, hasn't he?" Sherlock ignored Lestrade's comment and started panting, anticipating another smoke. Sherlock leaned in slightly, his eyes fixed on Lestrade's. Lestrade tongued his inner cheek and gave Sherlock a look over. Sherlock was struggling with his desire to rip the fag from Lestrade's mouth and...

SLAM

The door swung open and Sherlock jumped. Snapping back to reality.

"Oh, it's just you!" John said letting out a breath of relief. "Thought Sherlock was up here lighting up... Sherlock? You didn't..." John shook his head. "You quit!" John removed his jacket and placed it on the hook. He thumbed at the stain on the base of his jacket. Shit, now he was going to have to have it dry cleaned. "What's up?" John said nodding towards Lestrade.

"Just havin us a chat." Lestrade looked toward Sherlock. " _Weren't we_?" Lestrade mouthed silently. Sherlock leaned back on the arm of the sofa. Sherlock's desire for another smoke was dampened by John's presence.

"You and Mycroft... erm... patch things up?" John tried to inquire casually.

"You tell everyone bout us?" Lestrade asked Sherlock, accusingly.

"I simply told John you and Mycroft were working over business negotiations earlier this morning."

"Yeah... well I suppose we're back in 'business'" Lestrade sighed.

"Yes and isn't business booming?" Sherlock snickered.

"Shut it."

"John! My brother paid our dear Lestrade a fair amount for sucking his dick."

"I ain't no cheap whore." Lestrade sneered.

"Fifty quid! I'd say not! What's the going rate for a top notch blow job on the streets? Five? Ten quid?"

"Oh, you would know." Lestrade grimaced and curled his lip up at Sherlock and took a final drag on his cigarette.

_It was supposed to be MY cigarette._

Lestrade pointedly blew a large puff of smoke in Sherlock's face. Sherlock held back a growl.

"Fifty quid... all I get is a load in the eye." John grumbled. Lestrade snickered as Sherlock blushed ever so slightly.

"Yeah well... still makes me feel _cheap_." Lestrade sighed and put out his cigarette in a half empty tea cup left on the coffee table.

"You expect too much out of Mycroft." Sherlock grinned at Lestrade's dismay. " _Hopeless romantic._ "

"Says the bloke what spent the whole day gallivanting round the bay with his lover, hand in hand, snogging on the beach."

"Who-" John started.

"Your coat is stiff from the salt-water." Lestrade smirked at the come stain, visible from quite some distance.

_Very observant. John would have never been able to deduce our location by the salt deposits on a man's coat. If he would have figured Bournemouth... Well then... Lestrade isn't as ignorant as he appears._

"Oh fuck." Sherlock suddenly realized in John and his ferocious moment of passion he had forgotten his new bat in the back seat of the cab. Sherlock pounded his fist into the back of the sofa, near slamming into Lestrade's shoulder.

"Oi!" Lestrade flinched.

"John! The slab!"

"Sherlock, I already called the cab company. They're having it dropped off round five." Sherlock let out a large sigh of relief and brought his hands to his face. What would he do without John?

_Be dead in a ditch from eating tainted mud?_

Sherlock ran his hands through his hair. He looked at his watch.

_Near four-thirty. Round five... In the world of the London Cab Company, round five is a week from next Tuesday._

Sherlock rocked back and forth and tapped his toe on the floor. Lestrade gave him a look and Sherlock shot back a glare.

"If they so much as chip the-"

"Sherlock, it will be _fine._ " John assured him.

"Oh speaking of. I hear you made a rather expensive purchase down in Dorset today." Lestrade said leaning back grinning smugly.

_Ah, so he didn't figure our where-abouts from John's coat. Mycroft sent his little pet on an errand. I gave the man too much credit; he is indeed as ignorant as he looks._

"I take it, you're here to collect Mycroft's credit card?" Sherlock stopped rocking and deepened his glare at Lestrade.

_And here I thought he popped in for a 'chat'._

"If you would." Lestrade held out his hand. Sherlock pulled out his pocket book and grumbled to himself. He slid out the card and shoved it into Lestrade's hand, roughly. "And the ID." Lestrade beckoned his hand. Sherlock clenched his teeth and looked away as he pulled out the ID as well and held it out for Lestrade. Lestrade grabbed the card firmly and tugged it away from Sherlock's grasp. "Ta." Lestrade said shortly. Sherlock rolled his eyes.

John walked over to stand in front of the coffee table and started to pick up the clutter and brush off the cigarette ashes. There was a gentle rap on the door.

"Come in Mrs Hudson." John shouted. Mrs Hudson gently opened the door and slid in. She had in her hands the bag from the back of the cab and a padded envelope. Sherlock jumped up off the sofa in excitement.

"You know! Mycroft's expecting the several thousand pounds back in his bank account by-"

"You tell my brother he can go eat a-"

"Sherlock!" Mrs Hudson turned herself away as Sherlock reached for the bag. "You need to be more nice bout your brother, he is family after all." Sherlock tried to reach around the other side for the bag and Mrs Hudson swung it away from him.

"Oh Mrs Hudson, you are a tease."

"Sherlock!" She squealed in shock at Sherlock's crassness. Sherlock smirked and took the opportunity to wrestle the bag from her grip. "Oh you." She said giving Sherlock a feeble punch in the arm. Sherlock chuckled and smiled from ear to ear. Mrs Hudson let out a heavy sigh and grinned slightly. "Boys." She tutted. She fiddled with the padded envelope in her hands. Sherlock's smile faded, he placed his bag aside.

"That's not from the cab company." Sherlock pointed out.

_A slight bulge in the packaging. Keys. Car keys perhaps._

"No dear, a young woman dropped it off, round the same time the cab pulled up." She pushed Sherlock out of the way and made way for the sofa. "It's for you dear." She held it out for Lestrade.

"Oh... Thanks Mrs Hudson." He stared at it for a moment. He felt the bump in the middle of the parcel. He furrowed his brow in concern. John placed the tea cup back on the table and stopped fussing with making the flat more presentable. Mrs Hudson made her way toward the door.

"What is it?" John asked.

"A gift." Sherlock sneered.

"Gift from whom?" John looked over. Sherlock only rolled his eyes. Mrs Hudson pinched Sherlock's arm. Sherlock winced.

"Be kind." She scolded. Lestrade ripped open the top of the package and dove his hand in; he pulled out a car remote. He pressed a bottom and the key flipped out.

"It's a car key." He frowned looking it over. He turned it in his hand. He lifted his eyebrow. He brushed his thumb over the image of a pouncing jaguar and the bold letters underneath. "It's uh... A key to a Jag." He muttered.

"Why'd someone send you a car key?" Sherlock groaned at John's idiotic statement and made way for the windows. He pulled open the curtains. John's jaw dropped and he stumbled to stand next to Sherlock. Sherlock put a hand against the wall and leaned in, peering out the window.

John stared across the street, a bit of drool collected in the corner of his mouth. There, parked across the way, was a black Jaguar convertible.

"Holy fuck, it's an F-type." John felt his groin twitch. "It has to be a 2013." He wiped the corners of his mouth. "I am sleeping with the _wrong_ brother." Sherlock snapped his attention toward John and glowered. John looked to the floor blushing. Sherlock backed away from the wall and returned his gaze to the luxury car.

Lestrade continued to fondle the car key in his hand and stare at it, not knowing what to think. He smiled slightly after some thought.

"Guess I'm not such a cheap whore after all." Mrs Hudson took this as her cue to exit. Boys, with their cars and sex, so dirty, she did not need to stick around for this. She was going downstairs, was going to have herself a nice cuppa, and was going to phone round to all her girl friends warning them about the pervy widower down the way.

Lestrade leapt up on to his feet. He threw the key up and snatched it out of the air. He clenched it tight in his fist and gave his fist a kiss "Ha! I'm a high-end hooker." He laughed.

"You're a regular Julia Roberts." John laughed as Sherlock scowled at their banter.

"That's me baby, fucking high-class. Top-notch." Lestrade bit his bottom lip. "Man." He went to the window to look at his present. "Ah man." He stuffed his hands into his pockets and bit his bottom lip once more. "Man, it's fucking gorgeous." He nodded his head in approval. "Yeah... I can live with this." He laughed. He pulled the key out of his pocket. He pushed a button and the headlights flicked on. Lestrade grinned from ear to ear. He stumbled backwards. "What you think I'd get if I buggered em?" He gloated.

"Oh at least a multi-million pound property in the country-side." John said looking over the car's exterior. Sherlock continued to frown at the car. Lestrade leaned in once more and shook his head.

"Damn, that's a stellar car." He looked down at John who was still drooling at the sight. "You wanna go for a ride?" Lestrade offered.

"God yes." John said looking into Lestrade's eyes.

"John!" Sherlock shouted in detest.

"Oh bugger off. I'm not about to shag your boyfriend in my new Jag." Lestrade scoffed. Sherlock clenched his fists. "Wouldn't want my leather seats looking like his shooting jacket." John looked down at the floor and Sherlock started hissing through his teeth.

"You're not taking John for a _ride."_ Sherlock's face was turning red with anger.

"Oh come now Sherlock, it's a bloody Jaguar." John whined. "It's my _dream_ car." Sherlock breathed heavily and clenched his fists until his knuckles were white.

"Fine! You can go off in your dream car with your dream man." Sherlock turned abruptly on his heels and made way for his bedroom. John jumped and grimaced as Sherlock slammed the door causing the walls to shake. Lestrade looked John over with sympathy. He often pitied John for having to put up with Sherlock day in and day out.

"Still up for that ride?" Lestrade offered holding out the key and flipping it open.

"Course I am." John said glaring at Sherlock's closed door. "Where to?" He said making his way for the front door.

"I know a place." Lestrade grinned.

"What, lover's lane?" John chuckled.

"It's an F-type. Don't have bench seats. I'd end up with a gear shift up my arse."

"Thought you liked it like that." John joked.

"Oi shut it you." Lestrade and John giggled like school girls as they made way down the stairs and headed out the door to Baker Street.

Meanwhile, Sherlock steamed with an intense amount of jealousy and envy.

_The way he looked over that car. Practically drooling over the mere sight of the damned machine. The 'wrong' brother._

Sherlock heard the front door open and slam shut. He jolted out of the bed with anger.

_Oh I'll show him._

Sherlock stormed out of his bedroom and through the hall out to the living area.

"What? Back so soon? Forgot the fucking lubricant?" Sherlock looked up at the figure in the doorway. "Oh... It's _you."_

"Well, don't act so happy to see me." Irene Adler said grinning in the doorway. "What's this about _lubricant?"_ She smiled menacingly.

"What could you possibly want?" Sherlock asked, quite honestly uncertain of the reason for her dropping by.

"I've come to drop off your shirt. You're ever so kind for letting me borrow it." Sherlock growled as she passed him a dry cleaner's bag. "Even had it cleaned for you, aren't I just sweet?" She said puckering her lips and blowing Sherlock a little kiss.

"Burn it, I don't want your _disease."_

"Oh don't worry my dear Sherlock, it's not catching. You won't come down with a sudden case of _lesbian_." She raised an eyebrow at Sherlock "Unless Dr Watson's diagnoses was correct and you are indeed a girl, then I'm afraid it is quite contagious for young women." Sherlock fists were clenched tighter than ever; his finger tips were turning a dark purple.

"I am most certainly not a _woman._ " Sherlock seethed with rage.

"Oh I think you most certainly are." Irene Adler made way for the sofa and took a seat on the arm. She crossed her legs and grinned smugly at Sherlock. "Oh the way you looked at the Detective Inspector, such lust in your eyes. You can't tell me there's no sexual tension there." She chuckled. She withdrew a packet of cigarettes from her clutch purse and looked at Sherlock, teasing him while she undressed him with her eyes. "Would you look the same way at me if I let you share a _fag_?" She titled her head to the side. "I thought so." She lit a cigarette between her lips and sensually blew out a small stream of smoke.

Sherlock stood firm and scowled at her.

"Oh, what is so wrong with being a woman?" She drew in another drag and exhaled. "We are so sensual, powerful, beautiful. We have only to wave our wrist and men will fall to their knees to please us." Sherlock's jugular was clearly visible and pulsating, his jaw was clenched tight. "If only your school mates could see you now, the blossoming woman you've become."

"Get out." Sherlock sneered.

"Oh, Sherly you can't be serious."

"I said. _Get out._ " Sherlock thought himself quite generous for giving her the opportunity to make her escape.

"No need to get your knickers in a bunch. I'll leave when I am good and ready. Just hear me out." Sherlock was shaking with anger; it took every bit of his energy not to strangle the woman. "While your dear brother was busy with his little police friend, I got _it_." She smiled and raised her eyebrows.

"Got what?" Sherlock allowed his shoulders to drop slightly. He clenched his fists less tightly.

"What fun would it be if I told you?"

"Extremely fun. Do tell." Sherlock taunted.

"It isn't what you think it is." She said in a sing-song voice.

"It isn't of John and I breeching national security?" Sherlock's body relaxed.

"We could go on and on all night about what it isn't." Irene Adler stubbed the cigarette out against the wall. "How about you guess what it is?"

"I don't do _guesswork_."

"Yes of course not. _Deduce_ me." She said tantalizingly. "What could I have possibly found that is better than two men breaking into a military base and having penetrative sex on the highest ranking officer's desk after hacking into one of the most _secure_ computer systems in the country?"

"John got caught up in the moment..." Sherlock muttered.

"The man was the highest ranking officer in the entire British Army."

"Was." Sherlock grinned.

"Yes and your dear brother has done such a clever job never allowing to have that security tape see the light of day." Irene Adler sighed. "In fact, he's done such a clever job; he's snuffed it out of existence entirely." Sherlock let a slight grin tug at his lips.

"Oh has he?"

"Yes. However." Irene Adler grinned wickedly. "I have something _better_."

"Who is it meant to destroy?" Sherlock's lip twitched into a snarl.

"Oh, it has every bit to do with you. But you and yours are not the target." Irene Adler shook her head and tongued her back molar. "You are going to absolutely _adore_ me." She grinned.

"I'll leave that to my own discretion."

"There is no way you won't take me rough and hard all over this flat when you find out what I hold in my hands." Sherlock looked down at her new phone.

"Nokia... I was under the impression blackberry was your brand of choice."

"Forty-one megapix."

"Ah." Sherlock noted the very obvious camera slot on the front of the phone. "Best on the market?"

"Of course."

Sherlock couldn't help but be intrigued.

Better than the second attempt? Nothing was better than the second attempt. He had been bent over the most powerful man in the British Army's mahogany desk and was buggered roughly by his lover. He had knocked a photo frame of the man's children off the desk and it had crashed on the floor. The desk had inched across the floor from the sheer power of John's thrusts. Sherlock's nails left marks on the expensive hard wood. John had come wildly and without protection. Sherlock was sent over the edge when John finished him off with a highly skilled and pre-come slicked hand job.

He came hard on important classified military documents. He sat his come soaked naked ass on the man's imported leather office chair that had polished ivory arm-rests. The residual fluids from the tip of John's cock even dripped on to the rare and hand-knotted Ming Dynasty antique rug. Their DNA was painted all over that hand-crafted desk.

They had defiled that man's office and stolen top-secret military information all in under ten minutes time. And the Woman had something _better_? Impossible.

"Show it to me." Sherlock reached out his hand. Irene Adler smiled at his excitement. She considered teasing him a little longer, but she thought it would be much more satisfying to give in now. She thumbed through her media folder and then handed it over to Sherlock. She grinned and looked into his eyes with knowing. He was going to absolutely love her.

Sherlock took the phone into his hands. His thumb hovered over the play button. He took in a deep breath and pressed play.

"My, is that?"

"Mmhm." Irene Adler hummed with delight. Sherlock's eyes opened wide and he was beaming with an ear to ear grin.

"And they're?"

"Yes, I know."

"Oh, ho." He let out a low and sinister laugh. "This is prime. This is absolutely prime." He bit his lower lip and raised his eyebrows. He let out a giggle watching the video. "It goes on, does it?"

"Three parter."

"Oh, yes." He said clutching the phone. "This is... This is..."

"Prime?"

"Better." He smiled. "Mmm. So much better." He purred. He stopped the video short. "Oh you must send it to me, I have to have a copy." He smiled.

"You know my policies." She made a fake pout. Sherlock returned her look and batted his eyes.

"For me?" He said with a small whimper.

"I'll consider it." Sherlock returned his gaze to the freeze frame. He chuckled.

"Oh Irene Adler. You might just make me a lesbian yet." Sherlock said giving the phone a gentle kiss.

_For you are the answer to all my prayers._


	16. The Crofter

Mycroft held his raised fist steadily at the door. He collected himself, restored his equanimity, and knocked three times. He would not allow himself to cross the threshold, he would not take a seat, and he would not let himself be overthrown by the Detective Inspector.

He came for one purpose, to gather his credit card and ID. He’d collect his belongings and leave promptly. He shouldn’t be giving into Gregory; the man should be punished severely for his indolence. He refused to deliver Mycroft’s belongings to him at the office and made him come out to _council housing._

Mycroft mentally cringed at the state of the place. The front door was positively filthy. He wiped his knuckles off on his silk handkerchief and made note to dispose of it later.

He knew the man’s objectives and still he foolishly showed up at his front door. What was he thinking? What could he possibly gain from this? Why did ‘Gregory’ have to rhyme with ‘Bugger me’? Why was he behaving like a hormonal teenager at his age?

Lestrade opened the door and the first thing Mycroft was hit with was a heavenly smell. He took a tentative step backwards. Lestrade reached out a hand and Mycroft looked at it with concern.

_He’s been out with John Watson, perhaps he’s still here. My, wouldn’t that be a blessing?_

“John-“

“Left bout ten minutes ago.”

Mycroft held back his despair. He stepped away from the threshold and held out his palm. He beckoned for Gregory to hand over his belongings. Greg mistook it as a sign he wanted to be pulled by the hand into his hovel. Mycroft looked at their intertwined fingers.

_Fingers laced?_

He near scowled at the sentiment. He just wanted his credit card, he hadn’t meant to… oh that smell again. It masked the stench of bachelor. Gregory wasn’t supposed to know his one weakness, next to gin, was cake.

He looked at the table and saw a bottle of gin. He heart dropped. Sherlock had blabbed.

Lestrade handed him a shot glass filled to the brim.

“I know what you’re trying to-“ Lestrade cut off Mycroft’s words with a finger to the lips.

“Sh. It’s gonna happen.”

“And I’m willing to consent, I really am… Just…”

“What?” Lestrade looked at him with those spectacular deep dark eyes and Mycroft swooned slightly.

“Let’s not involve the cake.”

Lestrade laughed heartily and Mycroft sipped his gin nervously.

Mycroft looked around the flat; he grimaced at the sight of it. “How do you live in such squalor?”

“You make do with what you have.” Lestrade said with a diffident shrug.

“Yes right.” Mycroft said smacking his lips. “This will never do.”

“What?” Lestrade’s face dropped. _But I made cake._

“We’ll need a change of venue.” He looked up at the ceiling. “You have damp.” His nose wrinkled in disgust. “Pack your things, never mind the furnishings.”

“Pack my things?” Lestrade gave him a confused look.

“I have a flat in central London, Belgravia. Might as well…” He let the sentence hang in the air as he waved a dismissive hand.

Lestrade grabbed him roughly and pulled him into a deep kiss. He ran his hands through Mycroft’s fine hair and grunted against his lips. Lestrade swept his tongue in under Mycroft’s bottom lip and Mycroft drew up on to tip-toe. He withdrew suddenly. Mycroft’s lips were still slightly puckered and kiss-swollen. His hair was ruffled.

Mycroft blinked and clamped his jaw shut. “Um, I’ll… send a car… sixish work for you?” He said with a false sense of composure, straightening his tie. Mycroft gulped when he saw the predatory look in Gregory’s eyes.

* * *

Finally, things were turning up for Greg. He waltzed into the grand reception room of the flat in Belgravia. He admired the marble floors, the high ceilings with ornate porcelain tiles, and the massive fireplace. Right at the hearth were two wing-back Victorian chairs angled to face one another.

He looked around the corner to see a chef’s kitchen with granite countertops, stainless steel appliances, dark hardwood cabinets, and a tiny table for two. He stepped into the loo and laughed at the toilet.

“Gold, figures.” He looked up at the gold tiles on the ceiling. He shook his head and grinned. Off to the left of the toilet was a bedroom with a four post bed, an armoire, and another wing-back chair. He dropped his kitbag next to the bed. He pressed down on the mattress. _Memory foam._ He fell on to the bed and sunk in. He noticed a closed door next to the armoire.

Curiosity got the better of him. He rolled off the bed and on to his feet. He walked in and was astonished by the massive and rather empty walk-in closet. He walked through and reached a dressing area… which had another wing-back chair. He leaned in and sniffed the chair. _Brand new._ A wicked smile crossed his lips.

He noticed a row of suits hanging up. He cocked his head to one side. _What is Mycroft’s closet overflowing?_ He noticed an envelope marked ‘Gregory’ on the seat of the chair. He opened it up and unfolded the piece of paper inside. He held it far from his face. _Man, I need glasses._

Mycroft had very ornate and feminine handwriting, it was incredibly small but Greg could make out the words, ‘ _I’ve taken the liberty of setting aside a suit for this evening.’_ Greg looked at the row of suits. They were meant for him. He checked the tags. His size, down to the quarter inch.

_Creepy… yet endearing?_

He saw the suit Mycroft was talking about in his letter. _Three piece?_ Greg mulled it over, giving it a disappointed look. He was going to be Mycroft’s twin. His hand ran over the red silk tie and he smirked.

He walked out to the bedroom and opened the armoire. _Telly, tie pins, cuff links, and hello… cash?_ He pulled out the massive wad of cash which was held together with a money clip with Greg’s initials. He closed his eyes and bit his bottom lip and debated jumping for joy. He walked out of the room, stuffing the money clip in his pocket.

He roamed the flat, opening doors. There were two cloak closets. _Who has two coat closets?_ A boiler room, full sized stacked washer/dryer. There were no signs of Mycroft’s room. Greg scratched his head.

He returned to the bedroom and checked out the en suite bathroom. He saw the separate steam shower, the soaking tub, and that’s when he noticed the vanity. There were two sinks. His brain activity flat lined.

This _was_ Mycroft’s room.

Greg jolted when he heard the front door open and shut. He stepped out to look over the bed once more.

_Queen sized._

He gulped and started pacing the floor nervously. He heard noises coming from the kitchen, glasses clinking, drawers being opened. He drew in a deep breath and held it.

Greg strolled out of the bedroom confidently. Mycroft handed him a martini and escorted him silently to the reception area. They both took a seat and sat in an increasingly awkward silence.

“How is it?” Mycroft asked, stirring his drink with his toothpick.

“Dry.”

Mycroft chuckled softly. “I meant the flat.”

“Oh… yeah… s’good.” Greg nodded giving his drink another sip. “One bed.” He said with an unintentional gulp.

“Problem?”

“None… no.”

Mycroft laughed menacingly. “I thought not.”

Greg laughed nervously and his eyes darted away to a corner of the room.

“About din-“ Mycroft started. Both their phones pinged in unison. Without even looking at their mobiles, both men let out a heavy sigh and said, “Sherlock.”


	17. Premature Delivery

John cracked his eggs over the frying pan and looked on with sadness as one of the yolks broke and slowly spilled out and started to sizzle in the pan. He donned an operatic clown’s face. He hated to fight with Sherlock but when he returned home Sherlock had propped his chair up against the door and wouldn’t let him into the bedroom.

John had to sleep on the sofa because his former bedroom was now a store room for miscellaneous glassware and hazardous chemicals. The sofa wasn’t all together uncomfortable, but he was accustomed to an oversized man taking up three-quarters of the bed and all but one percent of the sheets. He was fine having one pillow as long as Sherlock had the other six. He felt like a sod making breakfast.

Sherlock emerged from the bedroom with a zombie like groan. His hair was dishevelled and standing every which way. He looked at John through narrow slits in his eyes.

“Morning.” John sighed. Sherlock strode over behind him, turned off the stove top, and grabbed the frying pan. “Sherlock.” John protested. Sherlock threw the eggs, pan and all, into the bin, and clutched on to John’s hand.

He dragged John into the bedroom. “Sherlock, look I’m real sorry bout-“ Sherlock fell face first on to the bed, still holding John’s hand. “Erm.” John hesitated. “Like I was-“

“John.” Sherlock groaned.

“What is it?”

“Shut up!” He shouted into the mattress. He tugged on John’s arm.

“I don’t know what-“

“Sleep!” He groaned.

“Oh.” John grabbed a pillow with his free hand and placed it in the middle of the bed. He lay down beside Sherlock and turned his face to look at him. “You still mad?”

“No… should I be?”

“No.” John said with a surprised look. He laughed softly and stroked back Sherlock’s hair. “Rough night?” Sherlock turned away, not willing to admit it was the worst night’s sleep he’d had in years. Sherlock threw his leg over John’s backside to get more comfortable.

He had spent all night locked away trying to come up with a power play while making pleas with his brother not to have Irene Adler shot. It took hours of negotiations but at last he finally managed to craft a plan to utilize their resources.

He woke up without a John Watson in his bed and had searched blindly in the sheets and checked the foot of his bed. He grabbed the first John Watson he found, which fortunately was only a stone’s skip away, in his kitchen. He’d been without sleep and strung out on too many drugs of late. His mind actively fought sleep and would stir and startle him awake, constantly buzzing and whirling with information.

He buried his face into John’s shoulder and tried to make himself more comfortable. This position wasn’t working. Sherlock rolled over on to his back and tried to drag John over him like a blanket.

“Sherlock, what-“

“Mm.” Sherlock pulled John on top of him so they were chest to chest. He put a hand on John’s head to push him down so John would lie comfortably on his chest. Sherlock spread his legs, drew up his knees, and shifted to wrap his arms around John. He threw his head back and started drifting off.

John tried to lift his body up and Sherlock held him firm. John couldn’t possibly fall asleep on top of Sherlock. He noticed Sherlock’s breathing pattern change and his grip loosened.

“Sherlock.” John whispered. He tried to wriggle free. It was an incredibly awkward position to be trapped in. Sherlock started moaning in his sleep. John felt Sherlock’s hands start to wander down his back.

“John.” He moaned.

“Sherlock, get off.” He whined as Sherlock clutched on to his ass and started groping. “I know you’re not asleep, come on.”

“Mm.” Sherlock smirked and gripped him tight. He started grinding against John’s groin with his own.

“Bastard.” John said with a laugh. “Come on!” John wiggled a bit.

“Oh, alright.” Sherlock said with a sigh. He lunged forward and started an open-mouthed attack at John’s face.

“Sherlock!” John shrieked as Sherlock bit his chin. Sherlock let out a low throaty laugh and started viciously nipping at John’s lips. He wrapped his legs around John and squeezed him tight, really grinding their junk together. John pressed up on Sherlock’s shoulders to create some distance.

Sherlock’s hand dove down John’s sweats and went straight for his cock. He started tossing him off rapidly. John let out a shocked gasp. Sherlock tugged hard and fast, letting out small grunts, all while grinning maliciously and sucking on John’s face like a whelk. He kept chuckling at John whose face was bright purple and was clearly enjoying the rough and dirty hand-job.

There was a loud ringing followed by the mooing sound of Sherlock’s phone vibrating on the side table. Sherlock opened his eyes and groaned. He let go of John’s cock, rolled him onto his back, and straddled one of his thighs. John looked up at him in shock as he answered the phone.

“Hello?” He answered annoyed as can be. He started mouthing to John the naughtiest of things like, _“I’m going to fuck you so hard.”_ At least that’s what John thought he was mouthing… he could have been saying just about anything. Sherlock started rotating his hips against John’s thigh impatiently waiting for the person on the other end to stop talking.

He started rolling his eyes. Sherlock grabbed John’s cock once more and started stroking idly. John bit back a groan and threw his head back. The things Sherlock could do with his left hand. Damned violinists.

“I’m preoccupied at the moment.” Sherlock said into the phone. “Yes John’s here.” He said with a scowl. “Here John, say hi.” Sherlock pressed the mobile to John’s ear.

“Hi?” John looked up at Sherlock confused as hell. Sherlock pulled the phone away and continued to listen. Sherlock started pumping him harder as the discussion became more heated. John’s hips started levitating off the mattress. He felt a chill start running through him. He fought back a moan that turned into a gurgle.

“No, I can’t possibly… Fine!” He shouted. He started really working John’s cock. “Hold on, John’s coming.” John clenched his teeth and clamped his eyes shut. He started hissing out short breaths. His whole body tensed and he started rocketing off shots of come, half way up his shoulder. He let out a gasp and a soft moan as he felt a sense of relief sweep over his whole body. “He’ll be there in thirty minutes.” Sherlock said, not paying attention to John who was panting and covered in spunk.

John couldn’t feel his spine, he wanted to roll over, nap, and have a cuddle with Sherlock’s beautiful hand.

“John, I need you to go to Heathrow.” Sherlock started shoving John out of the bed.

“What? And you can’t be bothered?”

“Far too busy.”

“With what?” John asked aghast.

“Calls. Far too many calls to make.” Sherlock said with a groan.

“You _could_ come with.”

“Could.” Sherlock said with a shrug as he lazily stretched out on the bed.

“Who’s at Heathrow?”

“Oh, just some kid. Billy or something.” Sherlock brought a hand to his face and started rubbing his forehead. “I wasn’t anticipating the paperwork to go through so quickly.”

“What paperwork?” John kneeled on the bed and looked Sherlock over. “Sherlock, what paperwork?”

“I’ll explain later.” He said waving a dismissive hand. John caught his hand and held it firm.

“What paperwork?”

* * *

John couldn’t help but grind his teeth as he waited in baggage claim at Heathrow airport.

“I’ll kill him.” John said with a shrug. “Simple as that.” He started rubbing his forehead and shaking his head. “Bastard.”

“John!” He heard a woman’s voice ring out. “John Watson!” She started jogging in her high heels, dragging her wheeling suitcase along behind her. She threw her arms around John and drew him into a hug. Just like one of John’s exes to be so amiable after the fact. “How _are_ you?” She asked excitedly.

This woman could have been one of ten women, brunette, brown eyes, thin as a rail, with a very generic accent. John racked his brains for a name. Had he really had that many failed relationships?

Yes.

“Betsy.” He said with a slight flinch, anticipating a smart slap across the face if she wasn’t indeed a Betsy. She smiled at him and he did an internal celebration dance.

“How’s things?” She said looking him over.

“Oh… things… things are fine.” He nodded.

“You seeing anyone?” John looked up at her. Why couldn’t she be this into him before? When they were _actually_ dating.

“In a sense.” John pursed his lips and looked away.

Betsy laughed. “In what sense?”

“Married… in a sense.” He said with a cough.

“Oh.” Her facial expression changed completely. She was looking for a shag. “That’s great, happy for ya.”

“Child on the way as well. _Apparently_.” He grumbled.

“Congratulations!” She said patting him on the shoulder. “Must be exciting.”

“Nerve racking.” John said with a small grin.

“I always thought you were at it with your flatmate.” She laughed.

“I am.” He said plainly.

“Oh.” Her face dropped and she turned pale. Her cheeks flushed a bright red. A wiry young lad with a rucksack slung over one shoulder stepped up beside Betsy.

“John Watson?” He asked looking John over.

“That’s me.” He said with a sigh.

“Laters.” The boy said to Betsy with a wink and a click of his tongue. They walked in silence to the cab. The boy kept shifting the rucksack on his shoulder. He looked like he was itching to speak. They both slid into the back-seat of the cab.

“Billy was it?” John asked finally taking in a good look of the boy. He was obviously in his teen years. He had on an orange wool beanie hat. He had both ears pierced and quite possibly his tongue as well. One eyebrow had a small scar running through it diagonally. He had light brown-grey eyes and could very well pass off as John’s son.

“Yeah.” Billy said with a nod as he shifted his rucksack between his legs to place it on the floor.

“No family?” John asked awkwardly.

“No, mum’s still round.”

“Then why-“

“Says I smoke too much.” John looked at him blankly. “Ya know? Like.” Billy mimicked smoking a joint. “Says she’d throw me out. Ran away ‘fore she got the chance, ya know? Then they come looking for me, social services. Says me mum’s got warrants. Hadn’t run off like that she’d be off scot-free, ya know? Lived in foster, bullocks, tote bullocks, they says can’t be smoking neither. Had me in rehab. Rehab! For cannabis, ya know? Ya know how many of em are in there for a bit o’ weed? None. Is all _real_ addicts. Three times my age.”

John gave him a worried look.

“Like say, bullocks.” He shook his head. “Social worker’s down my throat, says I needa clean up me act. I says I’ll run away, to London. Then she says ‘fine’. Fine? You believe it?” John’s head was spinning. “Says I been adopted. My age? Doesn’t happen. Whole process’s been expedited.” He looked at John. “So’s true?”

“Apparently.” John said with a gulp.

“Don’t mind the whole… being wiv ‘nother bloke thing. S’alright, ya know?”

“Thanks.” John looked down at his hands.

“Don’t mention it.” Billy looked out the window and started grinning. “Was it like? London, I mean.”

“It’s great.” John shrugged. “Never a dull moment.”

“Brilliant.” He smiled. “Got mates out here. Run-aways, like me.”

“Great.” John said with a nod.

“M’off hash, so’s you know.”

“Hm.” John acknowledged.

“Wasn’t doing nothing for me sex life.” John choked on air and started coughing.

After an excruciatingly long cab ride, John was ready to throttle Sherlock. He listened to about half a dozen life-stories about people John didn’t know nor did he want to know. Billy never seemed to shut-up for two seconds, like it was a crime if there was a pause in the conversation.

They pulled up to 221-B and Billy was as giddy as a school-girl looking it over. Mrs Hudson opened the door and looked highly concerned.

“He wasn’t lying. I thought he was pulling my leg.” She said looking over Billy. “You boys.” She looked like she was fighting back a smile.

“Mrs Hudson, this is Billy…” John paused.

“Oh shit, hold on, got papers.” Billy pulled off his rucksack and started digging. He pulled out a crumpled piece of paper. “Says on here, William Le-strate?”

“Lestrade?” John pulled the piece of paper out of his hands.

“Put em on the birth certificate n’ everythin’.” Billy said pulling out another piece of paper.

“William Henry-Harry Lestrade.”

“Dun ask, mum’s obsessed with the royal fam. Was gonna name me Dai.”

Mrs Hudson started laughing and led Billy inside. John caught Sherlock looking out from the upstairs window. Mrs Hudson cooed and fawned over Billy. She was truly a nanny at heart. While she was fixing him something to eat, John ran up the stairs.

“We need to talk, in private.” He grabbed Sherlock’s elbow. “Now.” He pulled him into the bedroom and shut the door.

“Well?” Sherlock said hovering in John’s space.

“I’d like-“ Sherlock lunged forward and claimed John’s lips. He pressed his back against the door and started intensely groping him through his trousers. John all but ripped down Sherlock’s zip and matched his motions. He gripped Sherlock’s shaft firmly and started rapidly jerking him off. He muffled Sherlock’s groans with his mouth.

Sherlock started drawing up on to tip-toe and he made his ‘o’ face. Sherlock’s hand stopped and John clamped a hand over Sherlock’s mouth as he came into his fist. He wiped the come off on Sherlock’s shirt and pressed down on Sherlock’s shoulder. Sherlock buckled at the knees.

John was quick to pull down his own zip and whip it out. Sherlock barely had John’s cock in his mouth before John began to aggressively fucking his face. He held on tightly to Sherlock’s face and dug his nails into his hair.

John thrust rapidly, taking out all of his anger on Sherlock’s face. He came with a gasp and held Sherlock firmly in place. He let go and started panting. Sherlock had a wicked smile on his face, John mirrored him.

“Cunt.” John said giving Sherlock’s face a gentle slap.

“You love it.” Sherlock said with a smirk. “The thought of being caught thrills you to no ends.” Sherlock stood up with a small groan. He pulled up his zip and started taking off his come stained shirt. “You turn from a bumbling idiot into a quality porn star.”

“Thanks?” John gave him a look of disbelief.

“Adrenaline, John! It’s what keeps your myalgia at bay and makes our sex life fantastic.”

“Great, I’m a porn star. Greg’s a lucky man.”

“I couldn’t very well give the boy my name.” Sherlock scoffed, pulling on a black button-down. “It’d raise suspicions.”

“Sherlock, I don’t want to be in a civil partnership with Greg. Believe it or not, I would rather be in one with you!”

“It’s only for a month, then the boy will be sixteen and the partnership will be annulled.”

“Yeah, great.” John said throwing his hands into the air. “I get no say, ever. What’s this about then?”

“You wanted children.”

John’s jaw dropped. “What?”

“You said you wanted children, congratulations! It’s a boy!”

“A _fifteen_ year old boy! He’s just some punk kid!”

“We need him.”

“ _Sherlock.”_ John said with a hiss. “You will not put that boy in any danger. It’s bad enough as it is.”  

“I promise no harm will befall him.” Sherlock grabbed a small bag off the dresser and strolled out of the bedroom. “Billy!” Sherlock said brightly. He shook the boy’s hand.

“Greg?” Billy ventured. He still had half a biscuit in his mouth.

“Sherlock.”

“Erm.” He gulped.

“Here, a gift.” He handed Billy the bag. Billy pulled out an I-phone.

“Holy shit.” He laughed looking over the box. “Brilliant.”

“You start school tomorrow. Fifth form, Westminster School. Your room is upstairs.” Sherlock pulled out and envelope and handed it to Billy. Billy opened it and pulled out several hundred quid.

“Sherlock.” John said with a gasp. Billy was beaming.

“The photograph.” Sherlock said looking at the envelope. Billy pulled out the photo and started looking it over. “You will befriend that boy, learn what you can about him, and record your conversations on your mobile.”

Billy nodded and thumbed through the notes. “Simple ‘nough.”

“You are not to mention me by name. Social services will make two surprise visits, one on next Tuesday and another on the twenty-third. You’re free to come and go as you please.”

“Curfew?”

“What’s that?” Sherlock looked at John.

“Brilliant.” Billy laughed. “I’m off then, ta.” Billy turned to leave only to have the door open on its own.  

“Sherlock!” Lestrade shouted from the threshold. “Is this him then?” Lestrade said pointing to Billy. “D’you know how much shit I could get into over this?” He said pulling Billy back into the flat. “And what, now John and I are _married?_ ” Lestrade asked in disbelief.

“It’s a civil partnership, hardly _marriage_.”

“It’s bullock, is what it is.” Lestrade looked like he was about to strangle Sherlock. “Bad enough I can’t see my own kids, now all of a sudden I have another?” Billy let out a sigh. “He’s just a kid, Sherlock.”

“Ain’t bothered.” Billy said defensively.

“You need a proper home. Not, whatever the fuck this is.” Lestrade said motioning his hand to the flat.

“But ain’t bothered though.”

“Doesn’t matter. Could have my badge taken away for allowing this to happen.”

“Mycroft would never let it go that far.” Sherlock assured.

“You a cop or summat?” Billy asked in shock. “No one said nothing bout cops.”

Lestrade flashed his badge. “Detective Inspector Lestrade, Scotland Yard.” Billy’s face turned a pale shade of white.

“This will all be over in a month’s time.” Sherlock said with a sigh.

“Christmas is coming up, Sherlock. I wanted to spend it with the family. You’re really fucking me over.” Lestrade said with a whine.

“You have a _new_ family.”

“I don’t want a _new_ family.”

“Your wife did.” Sherlock scoffed.

“You suggesting I use this to get back at Susan?”

“Woman just _love_ finding out they’ve turned a man gay.” Sherlock said with a smile.

“What bout the kid?”

“Oh, he could easily pass as John’s illegitimate child.” Sherlock said dismissing the notion.

John’s stomach dropped. “But he isn’t though… right?” He looked at Billy who took off his beanie, to reveal his undercut hairstyle. He started to scrub at his sandy blond hair. John saw a lot of genetic similarities. He started wondering where he was fifteen years ago.

“Never knew me da.” Billy said looking at John with a smirk.

“Then why is my name on the birth certificate?” Lestrade said putting his hands on his hips and looking at Sherlock crossly.

“I don’t want to raise suspicions!”

“Yeah, like no one’s going to question two middle-aged queers adopting a fifteen year-old punk arse kid?” Lestrade looked to Billy. “No offence.”

“Ain’t bothered.” Billy said crossing his arms.

“You and John are hardly _queer._ If anything you’re bisexual and nobody has questioned it.”

“That’s cos Mycroft’s behind the scenes pulling the strings!” Lestrade huffed. “God, and I’m just expected to go along with things? Act like everything’s sunshine and rainbows?”

“Yes.” Sherlock said placing both hands on Lestrade’s shoulders.

“Fine, you know what. Just fine.” Lestrade brushed off Sherlock’s hands and turned to leave. “Might as well give up… complete control of my life. Why don’t you come round some time and dictate my breathing?”

“I could arrange-“

“Shut up, Sherlock.” Lestrade stormed out and slammed the door.

“Don’t mind him, the government has been up his ass _constantly_ of late _._ ” Sherlock said strolling into the kitchen.

Billy furrowed his brows and looked at John. “Is this how it normally is?”

“Pretty much.” John gave him a firm pat on the shoulder. “Welcome to the family.”


	18. Numb

_Dead three weeks. Exsanguination. Electrical stun rendered the victim unconscious while they were stuck in the chest, severing both the aortic arch and pulmonary trunk. The victim was left to bleed out before being mercilessly stripped of their skin and slaughtered on site._

“Sherlock… would you stop playing with your steak and just eat it?” John said with a moan.

“Da, would you pass the ketchup?” Billy motioned over the table and John passed it over while still staring at Sherlock.

“Eat.” He reminded Sherlock who was still poking at his food with his bare finger. “How often do we all sit down for a proper meal?”

“Once weekly.” Sherlock said narrowing in on the slab of beef.

_The Spinalis Dorsi is abnormally large… that rules out Irish… The cow must have been massive. American?_

“D’you hear bout the horse-meat in Taco Bell’s beef?” Billy said drowning his steak in ketchup. “Says is scandalous. Is in all sorts of frozen beef product round Europe.”

“Lovely.” John swallowed his bite of food hard and redirected his focus to Sherlock once more. “It isn’t going to get up and leave if you stare at it long enough.”

“Phenylbutazone.” Sherlock said staring blankly at his meal. John put down his fork and started rubbing the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger.

“What about it?” He ventured.

“One would have to eat one-hundred twenty-five pounds of one-hundred percent horse meat for it to have any effect.”

“Bet ya Uncle Mycroft could manage five-hundred burgers in one setting. Prolly finish it off wiv a slice of cake.”

“Billy, be kind.” John held back a snicker. Sherlock grabbed John’s hand suddenly and pulled his thumb in close for inspection. “Sherlock?” John asked with an uncertain tone.

“You have a folic acid deficiency and are likely prone to developing arthritis. Does this hurt?” Sherlock twisted John’s wrist and John let out a loud yelp.

“Yes! God… Jesus, Sherlock. How would you like it if I twisted your hand backwards?”

“I wouldn’t mind at all.” He extended his hand for John. “Twist it whichever way you like.” He demonstrated with a flick of the wrist.

“Limp wristed fairy boy.” John mumbled into his cup. Sherlock went to stand. “Go on, run off.” Sherlock complied and retreated to the bedroom. “I swear he does this on purpose, picks a fight so he won’t have to eat.”

“Ya did kinda call him a limp wristed fairy… s’not ‘xactly the kindest fing to say.”

“He implied that I was old.” John said with a pout. “I’m not that old… am I?” John looked at Billy who glanced away and pretended to whistle. “Oh shut up.” He said with a laugh.

“When’s other dad coming round?”

“Nine. Or so he says.” John groaned, scrubbing his face with his hands. “He’s just about the most unreliable policeman I’ve ever met.”

“Welcome ta married life.”

John chuckled. “I hate to say it, I really do, but no wonder the wife left him, and don’t you dare repeat that.” Billy just laughed. “How’s school?”

“Long.” Billy laughed.

“Yeah well, you’re not used to actually attending regularly.”

“Is nice though. Never would’ve had this back home.”

“Yeah.” John looked down at his dinner that was relatively untouched. He felt a pang of remorse that Billy would be sixteen soon. “Looking forward to the holidays?” Billy shrugged and started poking at his food. The end of the term was rapidly approaching and Billy’s mission would be over. “So… how about those six form ladies?” Billy tried to conceal a smirk. “Got your eyes on anyone in particular?”

Billy blushed from embarrassment and brought a hand to his forehead. “Yeah.”

“What’s she like?”

Billy bit back a smile and wiped his hand across his forehead. “She has got the _biggest_ …” He looked up at John and let out a laugh. “Smile. I mean like… huge.” He laughed.

“Mm nothing like a big set of… teeth.” John chuckled.

“Tits aren’t half bad neither.” They both burst out into full belly laughter.

John’s laughter slowly faded and he started shaking his head. “Sixteen.” He said “ _Sixteen_.” He repeated. “Can you believe it?” He wiped away a fake tear. “Kids, you grow up so fast.” Billy chuckled. “What’s next for Prince William Henry-Harry?” John asked with a fond smile.

“Dunno.” Billy’s smile faded slowly. “Can’t thank you ‘nough. Like said, never’d have this at home.”

“Well… have you thought about sixth form?”

“S’no way.” Billy laughed. “Even if I survive exams, gotta work, can’t afford not to. I dunnot wanna end up on the streets or wiv me mum in prison.”

John let out a deep sigh. He jumped when he heard a knock on the door. He looked toward the clock on the microwave. “It’s open!” He shouted. Lestrade rushed in and shut the door. “You’re late.”

“Traffic.” Lestrade said with a huff. Billy stood up to collect his rucksack.

“Traffic? At nine at night?” John asked with a tsk.

“It’s London, there’s always traffic.” Lestrade said indignantly. “So what if I’m fifteen minutes late?”

“Please dear, not in front of the child.” John said with a transient lisp.

Lestrade shook his head. “I see him more than the biological ones.”

“It’s called parenthood.” John said standing up to put the left-overs away.

“I wish I’d never married you. Come on, Billy.”

“It’s a civil _partnership_.” John said with a bit of sass as he scrubbed the dishes clean.

“Some partner you are.” Lestrade said turning to stand in the threshold. “Oh and by the way, I’m having an affair.”

“Me too.” John said with a chuckle. Lestrade left with a smile. It was difficult being civil in a forced civil partnership. Fortunately Billy was old enough to know how to answer the social worker’s questions about his unique living situation. He left out the part where he was being used as a spy to gather intell on an international terrorist’s first born son.

Billy was very tenacious and outgoing, and he made friends easily. Mycroft had profiled him perfectly for the job. He fit into the group of misfit teens well. The boy, James, didn’t speak openly about his family; it took some serious digging including a break-in to the school’s private records to reveal more about the boy.

One day Billy brought home a whole armful of boys’ records.

“Took the lot. So’s not to raise suspicions.”

Billy was much smarter than he looked. Not as frighteningly smart as Sherlock but in his own way he was a very clever boy. Nobody thought twice about him taking photos and videos of the crew doing stupid things, skating in prohibited zones, vandalising public property, loitering, smoking weed. His mates even posed for photos as they set fires inside postboxes. He always stayed behind the camera, out of sight.

There was enough evidence to put some boys in jail, including James. Sherlock had only been expecting Billy to come up with a few details about the boy’s family and keep a close watch on James. Now he had more evidence than he knew what to do with.

He could take down Sebastian Moran once and for all. It was starting to feel too surreal. Sherlock was in a constant state of disbelief. It worried him. He held the photographs in his hands. Irene Adler would know what to make with it. He only wished he didn’t have to trust her with his life, she was notoriously finicky when it came to putting her own neck on the line.

He hated keeping John in the dark about the whole affair but John was prone to over-reacting. He would blow everything way out of proportion and cause a huge fight over nothing. Sherlock started putting the evidence away in a folder the moment John entered the bedroom. He walked over to Sherlock and pulled him into a reverse hug.

“You want something.” Sherlock said plainly. “Something I don’t want and/or need.” John pressed the side of his face into Sherlock’s back and hummed. “This isn’t an ‘I love you’ hug, is it?”

“Perhaps.”

Sherlock let out a loud groan and fell forward on to the bed, dragging John down with him. John lay on Sherlock’s back, gripping on to him for dear life. “What do you want from me? Tell me.” Sherlock demanded with an agitated whine.

“You.” John laughed and laid a kiss on Sherlock’s shoulder blades.

“Can’t you just leave me alone?”

“Nope.”

_He’s trying to be playful, drag me down to his level. I need to remain emotionally withdrawn for the sake of... erection._

“John, are you trying to have sex with me?”

“Billy just left for the weekend. We have the flat all to ourselves.” John said in a long and drawn out flirtatious tone.

“I’m in a vague and mysterious mood, can’t I just lounge about in my sumptuous nightwear and strike several pensive yet highly alluring poses while you type away at your computer pretending not to be glancing over at my lithe form?” Sherlock pressed up on to his elbows and scrubbed his face with his hands. “It used to be enough for you, just having me as company instead of my being some sort of _device_ that would fulfil all your sexual fantasies, especially all of the highly repressed Holmo-erotic ones.”

“I know your game.” John said with a chuckle.

“What, pray tell, would that be?”

John shifted to breathe down Sherlock’s neck which made Sherlock’s toes curl. “Reverse psychology only works on you.” He said pressing a kiss to the nape of Sherlock’s neck and chuckling softly.

“No it doesn’t.” Sherlock scoffed. “Does it?”  

“When I say not to do something you go ahead and do it and when I tell you to do something, you don’t, see?”

_How long has he been using these tactics? I do, don’t I? He’s using my opposition to his advantage!_

Sherlock let out a shocked gasp. “You!” He accused. “You’ve been manipulating me into the bedroom since the beginning!”

“What?” John asked with an overwhelming amount of confusion.

“When you say ‘no’ what you really mean is yes, correct?”

“No.”

“A-ha!” Sherlock shouted as he did an alligator roll and launched John on to the bed. Sherlock captured him in his arms and pinned their chests together. “And when you say yes?”

“I mean... yes.” John looked at him strange.

“Precisely.” Sherlock grabbed John by his wrists and pinned them to the bed above his head. “You are a sex crazed maniac, John Watson.” Sherlock buried his face in John’s neck and began adorning his shoulder with kisses. Sherlock pulled away suddenly and started grinding his pelvis into John’s thigh. “Admit it.” He said with a low sensual voice that just oozed with sex.

“Admit what?”

“You’ve always looked at me with carnal desire. Since the moment we met you’ve subconsciously licked your lips and thought ‘he’s the one’.”

“More like, ‘yeah, I’d give him one’.”

“You’d better not. It’s my turn.”

“What happened to switching off?”

“Too much work.” Sherlock stood up, abruptly releasing John. John shot up to sit on the edge of the bed. He pulled Sherlock in by his hips.

“I have an idea.” John said with a smile.

“Oral?” Sherlock asked, raising his eyebrows suggestively.

“Stay here.” John stood and leaned Sherlock down to give him a quick peck on the lips. He patted Sherlock’s shoulder and left quickly.

_Stay, what am I? A dog!_

Sherlock went to move.

_That’s just what he wants... for me to disobey him. I won’t fall for it again._

Sherlock stayed still, holding his ground. He heard John making noise at the new kitchen table, sliding out a chair, and dragging it across the floor. This was going to involve sexual acrobatics.

 Perhaps John’s Napoleon complex was getting the better of him and he wanted to be the taller man for once. That was out right ridiculous, what could John possibly gain from standing on a chair, other than... Sherlock’s mouth would be at the right height for... Sherlock groaned outwardly. John brought the chair into the room, sat it next to the bed, and took a seat.

Sherlock furrowed his brows in thought: if John wasn’t going to stand on a chair and fuck his face, then what?

John pulled him forward by the hand. Sherlock stood looking at him blankly. John had always wanted to try this. John started stripping his lower half, he made sure he was within reaching distance of the lubricant when the time was ready, for once he had it all planned out.

John kicked off his trousers and sat in his pants waiting.

“You’d like for me to do the same.” Sherlock stated rather than asked. John reached out to help get him started. “I am capable of removing my own trousers.” Sherlock said swatting his hand away.

John grabbed Sherlock by his hips and pulled him forward. He drew his face in close to Sherlock’s crotch and took his zip’s fastener between his teeth and pulled it down. He mouthed at the bulge in Sherlock’s pants. He held Sherlock firm by his hips as he faltered on his feet.

John unbuttoned Sherlock’s trousers and slid them down his hips quickly. Sherlock pulled them down the rest of the way and stepped out of them.

“Pants as well.” John said pulling down the waistband. Sherlock rolled his eyes and slid them off the rest of the way. John pulled Sherlock forward until he was forced to straddle John’s legs. “Sit.”

Sherlock glared at him, but being oppositional would only prove John’s point that reverse psychology was entirely effective. Sherlock sat on John’s lap and wrapped his hands around the back of John’s neck. “Now what?”

John slid him forward until Sherlock could feel his trapped erection rubbing and jutting up into his cleft. John crushed their lips together and ravished Sherlock’s mouth with his own. He ran his hands up Sherlock’s clothed back. Sherlock gripped John’s face in both hands and pulled his head back roughly.

“You want to penetrate me.” Sherlock said with a deep and dark gaze. His lips ghosted over John’s.

“Yes.” John said breathlessly. Sherlock ran his long fingers through John’s hair. Sherlock started rolling his hips forward, increasing the friction. John cupped Sherlock’s ass and ground into him firmly.

“And you believe I’ll give myself over _willingly_?” Sherlock’s voice was so dark and husky it made small moans escape from the depths of John’s throat.

“ _Yes_.” John whispered. John ran his fingers down the front of Sherlock’s shirt and started unbuttoning him slowly. He made it down to the fourth button before Sherlock held his hands still and looked into his eyes. John leaned forward to kiss Sherlock’s partially exposed chest.

He licked a solid stripe up Sherlock’s sternum and Sherlock’s hips bucked forward with a jerk. John donned an impish smile and ran teasing fingers over Sherlock’s right nipple. Sherlock’s thighs shuddered and he looked down at John with fear and uncertainty. John’s heart fluttered in his chest.

Sherlock looked very much like he did the first time they made love. John pressed his ear to Sherlock’s pounding chest and sucked in a deep breath.

“I love you.” He wrapped his arms around Sherlock’s torso. Sherlock wrapped his arms around John’s head and held him tight. He laid a kiss in John’s hair and shut his eyes tight.

Sherlock pulled away and held John’s face in his hands. He looked down at him with soft eyes and a fond grin. He brushed his thumbs over John’s cheek bones. “You can bugger me, if that’s what you want.” He said with a tender tone he reserved only for John.

John snorted a laugh, looked away, and nodded. “Yeah, I’d like that.” He chuckled softly and looked up at Sherlock. He ran his hands through Sherlock’s hair and pulled him in close to stack their lips together.

He wanted to stay like this for ages but Sherlock kept canting his hips and humming with pleasure. Sherlock shifted back and fished John out of his pants. He leaned over to the night-stand and grabbed the lubricant. He gave it a look and furrowed his brows.

“Cherry flavoured?” He narrowed his eyes in on the bottle. “Why would... John!” He said wrinkling his nose in disgust. He opened the cap and gave it a whiff.

“It was the only one without nonoxynol-9 at the shop.”

Sherlock laid his forehead on John’s shoulder and let out a sigh. “It smells like cough syrup.”

“Would you rather it itch?” Sherlock nodded his head. John rolled his eyes. He tried to grab the lubricant from Sherlock who held it away. “Would you rather go at it _dry_?”

Sherlock pulled his head off John’s shoulder and scowled. He squeezed some lube on his finger tips and tested the consistency. He gave it a tentative lick. He grimaced.

“How-“ Sherlock shoved his two fingers into John’s mouth before he could finish his sentence causing him to gag. Sherlock withdrew his fingers and John made a face. “Mouth’s numb.” John said smacking his tongue against the roof of his mouth.

“Benzocaine.” Sherlock said looking over the label.

“Why d’ay put eh in if eh’s flavoured?” John swallowed hard, he was drooling and his tongue was completely numb.

“That is counter-intuitive.” Sherlock lifted his eyebrows. “Should make things interesting.” Sherlock squirted a small amount of lubricant on his palm and reached down to stroke John. Sherlock leaned down pressed their lips together. He felt a numb tingling sensation in his lips. John’s cock twitched in his hand. “How does it feel?” Sherlock asked looking down at John’s half-hard-on. He pressed their forehead together and watched John’s slick cock pumping in and out of his fist.

Sherlock’s hand started to lose sensitivity. He started laughing and John giggled.

“This is never going to work.” John shook his head, rubbing his forehead against Sherlock’s. “Cock’s gone numb.” Sherlock released him.

“Manual stimulation isn’t the only way.” Sherlock said ghosting his breath along John’s neck. He felt John’s muscles tense. He moved down lower, running a line of kisses across John’s collar bone to his sternum. Sherlock held on to John’s shoulders as he ran his tongue down John’s sternum and then laterally outward towards his nipple.

John squirmed and curled his toes. He felt all the blood rushing away from his brain as Sherlock flicked his tongue across his nipple. It was the strangest sensation; he didn’t know whether to pull away from it or embrace it completely. His groin was filled with an intense warmth but he couldn’t feel it throb and ache like usual.

Sherlock started stroking him once more; he could feel a faint tingle of nerves. Sherlock hovered over him and John felt a rush of pleasure course through him even without being touched. Sherlock lifted his hips, held John firmly in his hand, and started lowering himself on to his cock.

There was resistance but Sherlock felt nothing but pressure as he seated himself fully. Sherlock let out a loud groan. “So much better.” He gripped on to John’s shoulders and started riding him, rolling his hips forward, and closing his eyes. John started stroking him and Sherlock threw his head back.

The numbing sensation started to wear-off and was replaced with millions of sensitive nerve endings firing shock waves of sheer pleasure. Sherlock figured John was starting to regain feeling as well going by the ‘o’ shape of his mouth. Sherlock’s thighs started quivering. With every roll of his hips his cock went pumping through John’s firm fist.

John let go and grabbed Sherlock’s hips, aiding him in rocking forward, trying to achieve better penetration. Sherlock began whimpering and wincing.

“More?” John asked biting onto Sherlock’s lower lip. Sherlock grunted in response. John pulled away, grabbed Sherlock firmly by the hips and started to stand. “I’ll show you... arthritis.” He scoffed. He stood with shaking legs. Sherlock wrapped his arms around John’s neck and his legs around his torso.

“John.” Sherlock looked down nervously. In an amazing feat of strength, John carried Sherlock across the room until Sherlock’s back was pressed firmly against the wall. Sherlock was suspended in midair, held up only by John’s powerful thighs.

John slammed into him and made the wall shake. Sherlock felt like every nerve fired at once. He shifted Sherlock and jabbed him again. Sherlock was literally being fucked up the wall as he scrambled to catch hold of something. John’s force was stunning.

He started thrusting rapidly and Sherlock’s jaw dropped and his vision blurred. He stopped abruptly and started jerking Sherlock off. Sherlock tensed and flexed, pressing away from the wall until only his shoulders were holding him up. John gave a thrust and he collapsed back like a spring.

The sensation was so intense Sherlock felt a cold chill run all over his body. He felt the pressure keep increasing, just when he thought he couldn’t handle any more, he released with an explosive force. He slumped and started sliding down the wall as John’s legs gave out.

Sherlock aided in bringing them down to the floor by walking down the wall with his hands. When they finally reached the floor, John dragged Sherlock’s legs up to rest his calves on to his shoulders. Sherlock went as limp as a rag doll as he was fucked into oblivion. His vision went completely black as he rode wave after wave of pleasure.

John thrust with loud desperation. He ached for release and was burning with such passion. Sherlock lay on the floor with his eyes closed and his arms splayed out. His chest moved up and down rhythmically. When John pounded into him he went with the motion, sliding along the floor.

John wiped the sweat off his brow with the back of his hand. He stopped and looked Sherlock over. “Sherlock?” He reached around to nudge Sherlock in the shoulder. Sherlock let out a small snore. “You’ve got to be... Sherlock!” John shouted. He ploughed into him with all his might.

After five minutes he pushed Sherlock’s legs off his shoulders and they dropped with a thud on to the floor. John pulled out and started stroking himself. “Seriously?” He asked Sherlock’s unconscious form.

The idea that crossed John’s mind made his prick impossibly hard. He smiled maliciously. It would be incredibly naughty, John thought, which made his cock twitch with excitement. Such a savage organ, the filthiest of things excited it to no ends.

John straddled Sherlock’s torso and started tossing off. It didn’t take long until he was panting and shifting closer to take aim. His super-ego screamed at him while his id egged him on. John bucked his hips forward and he let out a loud groan, “Shit.” He moaned as his white hot release spurted out and arched on to Sherlock’s face. He kept milking it and sat back on Sherlock’s chest.

He debated cleaning Sherlock’s face off before he woke up. John’s lips curled into a malicious smile as he looked over the mess. He decided against it and stood up to walk away before his guilt got the better of him.

He never understood the allure of coming in someone’s face, but then again he’d never had a prat of a partner pass out on him after sex. John limped away to the bathroom to wash up and piss. He let out a sigh as he felt all his tension release.

He pulled on some pyjama bottoms and pulled off his shirt to roam about with a naked top half. He felt a boost of confidence in his step, having fucked his flat-mate unconscious. Sherlock was going to kill him later when he found his spunk on his face, but it was well worth it.

John flopped down into his chair and enjoyed his time alone, typing away at his computer. There was little going on in the way of cases. Sherlock _was_ being rather vague and mysterious of late. John wondered if it had anything to do with the boy named James. He seemed very preoccupied with the case yet John had little to no clue about why the boy was so important.

John constantly worried about Billy’s safety. Sherlock told John he was being irrational when he started fretting about the skate park. Billy never wore a helmet and John was tempted to wrap the boy in bubble-wrap and put him in a padded room for safe keeping. His paternal instincts were kicking in and he knew it was going to be hard to let Billy go out into the world at sixteen years old.

He especially didn’t want Billy to join the military. He’d rather have him in prison eating three square meals a day than being shot at overseas. Billy had a kind-heart and he’d be devastated if anything happened that would change that.

John shut his laptop and bit at his thumb. He turned on the telly to calm his nerves but he felt like his stomach kept twisting and tying into knots. He was starting to panic over nothing. Come January Billy would be sixteen, they’d have the flat back to themselves, and... oh dear, John felt tears welling up inside him.

He didn’t want Billy to leave. The boy called him dad for Christ’s sake! He was attached after only a few short weeks; no wonder Sherlock wouldn’t let him have a dog. He burst out into tears and tried to keep his sobbing down.

“John!” Sherlock shouted from the bedroom. He stormed out, rubbing his face on one of John’s shirts, he was steaming with rage. His face turned when he saw John’s tear stained cheeks. “Erm.” Sherlock shifted uncomfortably. “Are you... okay?” He asked awkwardly with a false sense of concern. Mostly he just wanted John not to break down crying.

“No.” John sniffled.

_What’s upsetting him? News from twitter? No... Facebook? No it has nothing to do with the computer. It doesn’t have anything to do with me. Nor his sister. He hasn’t grabbed his mobile and started making calls so the issue is not life threatening. He’s mournful but nobody has died. He isn’t remorseful about ejaculating on my face, though I hardly see why I deserved such a thing. Perhaps our sneaking around has finally gotten to him. We haven’t had the chance to have proper intercourse in weeks._

“It’s about the lodger isn’t it?”

“Billy.” John said through tears.

“He’ll be gone soon enough.” Sherlock said patting John’s shoulder. John started bawling and Sherlock let out a small groan. “What is it?”

“I don’t want him gone.”

“Oh.” Sherlock said straightening up. “That’s up to him, isn’t it?”

“What?” John looked up at him with watery eyes.

“If he wants to leave there’s not much we can do to stop him, save hold him hostage, which could raise some concerns with the authorities.”

“What if he doesn’t? Want to leave, I mean.”

“Then...” Sherlock looked at him questioning. “He’ll stay?” He said shrugging his shoulders. John leapt out of his chair and his laptop came crashing to the ground as he wrapped Sherlock in his arms and squeezed him tight.

“Really?” he looked up at Sherlock.

“It’s only logical. If he isn’t going then he’s staying.” John pulled him in tighter cutting off the circulation to his arms and crushing his ribcage. “John. Breathing.”

“Oh breathing is boring.” John said swinging him around in a sort of dance. “You have no idea how happy you make me.”

“Going by your constant state of arousal I’d say-“

“Shut up and kiss me.” John stood on tip-toe and smashed their lips together. He laid several pecks on Sherlock’s cheeks. “You beautiful, beautiful man, you.”

Sherlock only wished he knew what he’d done right.


	19. Come Fly with Me

Christmas Eve came soon enough and everyone was bursting with joy, save Sherlock. He tapped his fingers on the windowsill and looked out intently at Baker Street. Mrs Hudson prattled on and on about this and that and was elated when Billy put on the dreaded antlers. Molly laughed away, glad to have some human company for once. Lestrade was full of Christmas cheer, i.e. alcohol and had an arm draped around Mycroft's shoulder possessively. Mycroft sat on the sofa stiffly, rather wishing he'd spent the evening at home, alone.

John walked up to Sherlock's side and placed a hand on his shoulder. "Everything all right?" He looked at Sherlock nervously.

"Fine." Sherlock said with a small grin, concealing his deep worry.

James would have returned home now, the big surprise was awaiting him and his family. Sherlock's stomach turned sour. If Moran knew it was a trap and who'd set it he'd come straight to Baker Street. Sherlock's knees had been locked for a bit too long and he stumbled backwards as he moved from the window.

"Someone's had a bit too much I think." Mrs Hudson chortled. Sherlock looked around the room at the faces of the people he tolerated and allowed into his home on Christmas Eve. Mrs Hudson, Billy, Lestrade, Mycroft, and Molly. Then he looked over to the one person he truly loved and felt his heart sink in his chest.

They were all in danger, always, and all because of him. The party remained oblivious to his inner torment. All except Molly; he could see it in her eyes she knew. She always knew. She read Sherlock like an open book and knew just exactly which page to turn to.

Sherlock slipped outside unnoticed and stood on the landing waiting. Molly caught on and followed him out, gently shutting the door behind them. She waited patiently for an explanation. Instead she got a hug.

Molly's brain exploded and her legs turned to jelly. She wanted to let out a girlish squeal of joy but refrained. She pushed him away gently, and patted his shoulder lightly.

"What's this about then?" She asked trying to remain calm but inwardly dancing with excitement. He hugged her, actually hugged her. She felt tingly in all the right places.

"I've put you all in grave danger."

"No different than any other day." She laughed nervously. "How... grave?"

"The second most dangerous man in London is walking into a trap as we speak. He'll know something is amiss and he'll come straight here, looking to exact his revenge."

Molly started wringing her hands. "What kind of trap?"

"His family is being held hostage by Mycroft's men."

"Oh... that's a bit not good." She gulped. "On Christmas?" Sherlock nodded. "Does John know?" Sherlock went silent. Molly let in a deep breath. "I know... it's not my place to speak... but... sometimes you and your brother should probably consult a more... level headed person before doing... things." She ended awkwardly, hoping her point got across.

The Holmes brothers would probably just think it was inconvenient, if either one of them was being held hostage on Christmas. They wouldn't be thoroughly devastated and outraged like _normal_ people. This dangerous man was probably going to go on a rampage to get his family back, like any man would.

"Just a thought..." Molly said biting at her lip. "We could... hide?"

Sherlock looked at her a moment, clearly thinking about the proposed solution. "Hide?"

"Yeah, we could all go and hide away until the storm blows over." She said with a shrug.

Sherlock's phone orgasmed and Molly closed her eyes.

"You still haven't changed that?" Her face blushed a bright red.

Sherlock cleared his throat. "It's personalized for her." Sherlock smacked his lips together and raised his eyebrows. "And I can't figure out how to change it." Molly burst out into a fit of giggles.

Sherlock's face dropped as he glanced at the message.

**Run XX**

Sherlock burst through the door and announced. "Family vacation everyone, you too, Mycroft."

"I take it negotiations failed." Mycroft said plainly, pulling out his mobile. He stood and walked into the kitchen.

"Negotiations?" Lestrade asked concerned.

"Sherlock." John looked up at him with worried eyes.

"No time to pack, the car should be here shortly."

"The Mercedes only seats four." Mycroft shouted from the kitchen.

"Then get a larger car!" Sherlock shouted.

"What's going on?" John stood toe to toe with Sherlock.

"Nothing, early Christmas present?" Sherlock suggested throwing a dismissive hand into the air. Mycroft got off the phone and had a revolted look on his face. "Well?"

"It's an SUV." He wrinkled his nose in disgust.

"How many does it seat?"

"Six."

"It will have to do." Sherlock said with a sigh.

The car arrived and they all filed down the stairs with the presents. John held a stack that went up to his chin and looked over to Sherlock who was empty handed.

"Sherlock, you could carry _something_." Sherlock ignored him and went into Mrs Hudson's flat. John gritted his teeth and walked to the waiting Cadillac Escalade. The man delivering the car handed Mycroft the keys and left in a cab. Mycroft grimaced at the exterior.

"Boo hoo, it's an SUV." Greg said shaking his head as he opened the boot to stuff presents in. "Get over it, love."

"It's a box... with wheels." Mycroft said with a whine.

"Can I drive?" Billy asked with a smile. Mycroft clutched on to the keys and slid into the driver's seat.

John slid the last of the boxes in the car. "Where's Sherlock?"

Sherlock emerged from the flat with a heavy sigh. "Merry Christmas." He mumbled, shoving a little bundle of squirmy cuteness into John's arms. "It's a dog." Sherlock said plainly.

"Aw." John said holding the puppy that was radiating warmth. "All I got you was a scarf." John said beaming at the little bulldog pup. "He's so cute." John couldn't hold back his joy.

"Get in the car." Sherlock giving John a shove. "The glass is bulletproof right?"

"I made sure of it, Sherlock." Mycroft said with a sigh.

"Why's the glass have to be bullet proof? Myc?" Greg asked nervously. John took a seat in between the second row's captain's chairs with the puppy on his lap. Before he could ask why he was the one stuck on the floor, Mycroft peeled out and started driving like a maniac. John clutched onto the puppy that was flailing.

"Where are we going?" John asked Sherlock who was looking out the tinted window watching the street lights speeding by.

"Toulon." Sherlock said casually.

"Whoa, hold on." John said scooting forward. "Toulon? You mean like south of France, Toulon?"

"Yes." Sherlock said with a long bored drawl.

"I was supposed to see my kids tomorrow." Greg said turning around.

"You'll see Billy, look there he is." Sherlock said pointing to Billy who was listening to his music, ignoring the world, just along for the ride.

"I meant my _real_ kids." Greg said with a whispered hiss. Sherlock let out a sigh and put his own headphones in his ears.

"Great, are we the only ones that didn't bring any sort of entertainment?" Greg asked John. Mrs Hudson was knitting away, while Molly played angry birds on her phone. "This isn't normal. People don't just fly away to the south of France on a whim."

"Ow, ow." John pulled his finger out of the puppy's mouth. "His teeth are like razor blades."

Greg turned around in his seat and let out a sigh. "Right, nobody listens to me." Greg looked over to Mycroft who was actively ignoring him. Greg put his elbow on the car door and rested his head in his hand. He nodded off and started snoring lightly.

Mycroft's knuckles were turning white on the steering wheel. They reached Northolt and pulled up to the awaiting aircraft. He handed the keys off to his regular driver and climbed the steps into the private jet before the rest could enter. He looked over the cabin. The Valium was already waiting along with three fingers of scotch. He popped the pills and knocked back the scotch and went to lie down on the bed in the back.

Greg boarded the jet and was astonished. The plane had three sections, the first being a table with seating for four, the next had a full length couch, three tellies, and four seats arranged around a coffee table. There was a fully stocked bar missing a glass.

Greg walked back to the last section that had a full-sized bed with a full-sized man sleeping in it. He opened the door to the loo and looked over the mahogany accents and the shower. It was decided, he was never flying on a passenger aeroplane ever again. This was the way to travel.

He spotted the empty glass on the night-stand. "'Fraid of flying?"

"I fear nothing." Mycroft said with a drunken slur.

"Damn and here I was thinking I could join the mile high club." Greg laughed sliding into bed next to Mycroft.

"Psh... I'm the bloody president of the mile high club." Mycroft rolled over. "Sex is better on solid ground, far less turbulent." He pulled Lestrade down by his shirt and wrapped his long legs around Lestrade's torso.

"Whoa! There's children on this flight."

"Mm, bugger me, Gregory."

"It's sleepy time, love." Mycroft let out a loud groan and rolled over on to his belly. "Mm, that arse." Greg shook his head mournfully.

Sherlock stayed on the ground, making sure everyone made it on and did a second head count. John was the last to board, he made frail attempt at having the puppy empty his bladder before he boarded the plane.

"John, we haven't much time." Sherlock said pulling John on to the plane.

"Are you going to explain what's going on?" John said placing the puppy on the floor. The dog sniffed a few times before marking the plane as his own. "Oh Christ, Gladstone." John said picking the puppy up.

"Gallstone?" Sherlock asked with a look of confusion.

"Gladstone... served as Prime Minister four separate times... doesn't he look like a Gladstone?"

"Looks more like a Toby to me."

"How does he look like a _Toby?"_

"Well, how does the dog look like a Gallstone?"

"Gladstone."

"Irrelevant." Sherlock said taking his seat. He looked at his wristwatch. "We'll be taking off on the hour."

John looked down at his watch. "That's in one minute." The plane's engines roared to life and John took a seat across from Sherlock in the front part of the cabin. He buckled his safety belt and started to panic as the lights dimmed. "Why are we leaving London?"

Sherlock disregarded him and John kicked him under the table. Sherlock let out a shocked gasp. "John, that hurt."

"Why?"

"I... You wouldn't..." Sherlock let out a breath, placed his elbows on the table, and let his head fall into his hands. "We kidnapped Sebastian Moran's family and instead of allowing himself to be captured, he's drawn first blood."

"Great, so Rambo's on the loose in central London, on Christmas." John closed his eyes and his hands started to shake. "You _idiot_."

"Irene Adler was the one-"

"Don't start." John put up a hand. "She had better not be coming to Toulon with us." John looked at Sherlock with a dead serious glare. "Sherlock." He warned.

"She needs protection just as-" John unlatched his safety belt, dove over the table, and started throttling Sherlock. "John-ah." Sherlock choked.

"John!" Molly shouted. The plane started taxing on the runway as Molly and Mrs Hudson tried to pull John off Sherlock's throat.

"You bastard! We could have been killed! All because of that stupid _whore_!" John shouted, shaking Sherlock by the shoulders, causing his head to bounce off his chair.

"Inspector Lestrade! Help!" Mrs Hudson shrieked.

Greg pulled up his zip and feverously tried to button up his shirt while Mycroft actively tried to tear his clothes off. "Hold up! I'm coming!" he shouted.

"Not yet you're not." Mycroft pulled him down roughly.

Billy, who was sitting in the middle of the plane, heard the commotion over his music. He turned off his phone, stood up, and walked up to the front of the cabin to see his dad actively trying to strangle his boyfriend while the not-housekeeper and some bird he'd just met were trying to peel him off.

Christmas was never like this at home. Usually his mum just got drunk and passed out on the sofa. Billy looked toward the back of the plane to see the curtain drawn closed. From the noises coming from back there, he was pretty sure his other dad was shagging his uncle. He let out a sigh and rubbed his forehead.

"Plane's taking off." Billy said awkwardly. "Should prolly be seated, ya know?" John allowed himself to be wrenched from Sherlock.

"If we die, Sherlock. I'll kill you."

"How-" Sherlock started but saw the anger in John's eyes and decided against making a smart-alec remark.

Billy scooped up the puppy and held him on his lap for take-off. Mrs Hudson fell asleep on the sofa. She thought a trip to the south of France would be lovely, no matter the circumstances. She just wished the boys weren't at each other's throats, literally.

Molly started to worry about who would feed Sherlock the cat. He didn't eat much and was very finicky. She could have her mate Jeanie come round to check on him, but she was fairly sure Jeanie was allergic to cats. Sherlock only liked to rub up against people that were allergic to him. He also liked to chase off her dates. He let her scratch his belly the other day, so all was forgiven.

John stopped speaking to Sherlock all together. He couldn't force Sherlock to understand how foolish he had been. If someone kidnapped his family John would stop at nothing to get them back. He couldn't blame Moran for shooting the guards. The man had done terrible, terrible things and made their life a living hell. They lived in constant fear they'd have a bullet sent through the back of their skulls when they least expected it. He once near succeeded in shooting Sherlock straight through the heart.

He hated the man, but he'd never take it out on an innocent family. Sherlock told him about the video Irene Adler gave him. Moran looked _human_ enjoying Christmas with his estranged family. It was the one time of the year he risked exposure and the Holmes brothers exploited it.

They could be so cruel around the holidays. John stood up and ignored Sherlock as he walked to the middle of the cabin. He looked back at the closed curtain. He made a face.

"Wouldn't go back there, if I're you." Billy said looking at the curtain with similar disgust.

"Wasn't planning on it. No telling what they're doing back there."

"Don't wanna find out neither." Billy said passing the puppy over.

"You think he looks like a Gladstone?"

"Looks more like a Churchill." Billy said pulling out his phone. John held the dog up to face him. John mimicked the bulldog's face.

"Winston." He gave it a thought. He rather liked it. He did look like a wrinkly little Winston. John couldn't be mad with a wiggly little pup in his hands. The puppy let out a little howl and John's heart melted. He was instantly attached.

They all cringed when they started hearing the ungodly things from the back of the plane. John tried to pretend that he didn't just hear Greg saying "Come on Mycroft, come for daddy."

In the back Mycroft was having the best mattress mambo of his life. Greg couldn't have been any more attentive to his needs. He was an absolute sex God. His thick cock just kept hitting _that_ spot over and over again, making Mycroft's legs quake. Mycroft's own member was dripping pre-seminal fluid on to the Egyptian cotton sheets. 1500 thread count.

Greg hadn't been with a man like this since 1987, it was fucking fantastic. Much better than having it up the ass. Mycroft was so uptight all the time and he had the _tightest_ ass, it was incredible. Mycroft told him to fuck him sideways until he screamed; so he did. It was such hardcore spooning it might as well be called forking. He lay on his side behind Mycroft holding up his leg and just went at it with teenage-like ferocity.

Mycroft was keening and begging for it like the little cock-slut he was. Greg felt extremely cocky. He dropped Mycroft's leg and reached around to start stroking him. He stopped and held him firm. "Oh you love it, don't you?" He growled into Mycroft's ear.

"Oh God, yes, yes." He moaned. Greg started stroking him once more, stopping when he felt him close.

"That's right." He bit down on to Mycroft's shoulder and gave him a few good thrusts with his hips. "Who's your daddy?"

Mycroft let out a loud guttural moan. "Gregory, you're a God."

Greg laughed. "God, eh?" Mycroft twisted at his hips, claimed Greg's lips with his own, and ravished him with an open-mouthed snog. Greg was exceedingly turned on by this act of intimacy. He rotated and dug his hips in, slapping his skin against Mycroft's. Their tongues became entwined in a French kiss. Mycroft let out high-pitched girlish whine.

Greg wrapped his fingers around Mycroft's hip bone, gave him a few well angled thrusts and Mycroft came without him touching.

"Oh God, that's hot." Greg groaned looking over at the volcanic-like eruption with keen interest.

"Come in me." Mycroft growled. Greg went brain dead. All his blood flow went straight to his raging erection. He pressed his forehead between Mycroft's shoulder blades and started saying a small prayer as he drove it home. The tension became too much and he started hissing through his teeth. He let out a long and loud "Fuck" as he felt the ejaculate come exploding out of him, taking all his energy with him.

He lay there spooning Mycroft, now a proud member of the mile-high club. He remembered the other people on the jet and started feeling self-conscious about how loud they had been. He hoped the sound of the jet engines covered up most of what he'd said in a fit of passion. He pulled the bedspread over them and snuggled in close. Mycroft usually created a bum barrier around himself at home. Greg wanted closeness and Mycroft was like a feral tiger; even in his sleep he was prone to lash out.

It was about time Greg had his. It was the best Christmas present he had received in a long time.

"I love your penis." Mycroft said with a content sigh.

"D'you love the Greg attached to it?" Greg asked wrapping his arm around Mycroft tightly.

"Perhaps."

Greg fell asleep with hope in his heart while Mycroft fell asleep with a dick in his hole. Both men felt well fulfilled.


End file.
